


Fate Intervened

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellamy Has Feelings, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake and his sister, Octavia, are immortal. Which would be great, if Bellamy didn't have to keep watching the woman he loves die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I saw her today."

"I saw her today." 

Bellamys head snapped up. He didn't need an explanation; they both knew damn well who Octavia was talking about. 

He stared at his sister for a long moment, chewing on his lower lip as his hands started shaking where they held her favorite book. 

Finally, his mouth fell open, "It's too soon." His voice broke on the edge; his emotions a cliff that he couldn't move past. She'd only been gone seventeen years, this time around. He was sure he'd have longer before he'd get to see her again.

Before he had to watch her die again. 

They'd always had about twenty five years before she wondered back into their life, oblivious of the past they all shared. Of the lives she and Bellamy had together. She was always still Clarke, always still enraptured by everything around her. Consumed by her wanderlust. In fact, that very wanderlust is usually what brought her back into their lives. 

No matter what continent he and Octavia lived on, no matter what century or country, she found her way to them. It was almost always Octavia that she found first. But then, Octavia would come home that night and tell him that she'd returned. 

In the past, he'd been overjoyed. Because maybe, just maybe, this time Clarke would stay. Maybe he wouldn't have to lose her again. Maybe this would be the time, just like Lincoln had survived Octavia that winter night, Clarke would survive Bellamy, and he would never have to see her die again. 

But every time he believes he'll get to keep her, his heart is ripped from his body. His soul is torn to shreds. 

Yes, he's dramatic. But he's watched the love of his life die thirty three times. And as far as he's concerned, there's no reason better for dramatics. His life is a freaking Shakespeare tragedy, but the show just won't end. And he'd known Shakespeare personally, so sometimes he can't help but wonder if he's being cursed for recommending the big plot twist in Romeo and Juliet. 

But the curse had been enacted long before he'd ever met William. 

He and Octavia had lived in a village close to the Philippines nearly four hundred years ago. He'd been twenty two, Octavia only seventeen. Their entire village fell ill, almost overnight. Abigail, the towns healer, was one of the first to go. 

Then his little sisters lifelong friend, and the girl he loved, Clarke, fainted while collecting water. Bellamy and Octavia, too, were sick and confined to their cots in their mothers hut. 

He made a wish. He hadn't even known Clarke was sick, he'd just known what was in his hut. And that was his sister, shaking, vomiting; dying. 

So he made a wish in the dark of the night. 

He wished Octavia a lifetime of good health. Wished he could protect her from the dangers of the world; save her from any ailment, from any wound. Wished his sister to live. 

The next morning they awoke to the smell of death. Nearly everyone in their village had passed in their sleep, and those that hadn't were on their way out. 

He found Clarke in her hut. 

She looked up at him through foggy eyes and reached towards him. Her arms barely moved above her body before the fell limply to her side. 

He rushed over to her, pulled her up against his chest and told her she would be okay. He and Octavia got better, so Clarke had to as well. 

Only. 

She didn't. 

That morning she died in his arms. 

Octavia had to pull him away from her, had to force him out of her hut. They didn't know they were immune to all disease yet, and corpses carried many. 

They spent the day mourning their village and the night building the rafts to send them off to sea for an afterlife of tranquility. 

Four hundred and twelve years later, and they were still plagued by misery and guilt. He knew they were being punished for his selfishness that night. He got his wish, but every wish he made after that night had been left unfulfilled. 

It's like the gods thought his misery was a fucking joke. 

They give her back to him, only to rip her from this world, from him. Again and again. 

And now it seems, again. 

"I know," Octavia murmured, moving across the room to sit on the table in front of him, "But too soon isn't too bad. It just means you get to see her again. I know you've missed her." She smiled in the way she does every time Clarke returns. 

It's not a smile that suits her. Pity and joy crushed together in one closed lip grin. 

She reached forward and set her hand on top of his trembling fingers. Unable to look her in the eye, Bellamy turned his gaze to their hands. The pages of the book crinkled underneath the weight of them. Yanking his hands away, he smoothed out the pages and slammed the book shut. 

"Don't pretend to understand something you couldn't possibly -," he started.

But Octavia returned to her usual self, and stood up, crossing her arms across her chest. "You're not the only one who hurts when she dies, Bellamy. And in case you forgot," She sneered down at him, "Lincoln died too. Lincoln died again, and again and again." 

Until one day he didn't. 

"You lost Lincoln a fraction -," 

"Don't you fucking dare!" She exclaimed, taking a step back and pointing an accusative finger at him. "The amount of deaths does not erase the pain of them. Momma died once, Bell, and it still cuts us. Even to this day. We sent our entire village to sea. Just because Lincoln stopped dying, it doesn't make the times that he did die hurt any less." 

He knew that. 

But he was angry.

Lincoln had died ten times.

Then, one day, Octavia told him she loved him, like she had every time before because she was brave, and strong, and was willing to face the consequences so long as she had another day with him. 

She'd always been braver than Bellamy. 

They spent every day together, waiting for tragedy. Bellamy watching on, Octavia holding on. After two years, they started to believe that they could finally be free of their curse. But it was snowing, and the hunter didn't realize Lincoln was a man rather than a bear, and shot him. 

Except he didn't bleed. 

And when he woke up, he remembered everything. Every lifetime he and Octavia shared; every moment, every death. 

It gave him hope that it was his and Clarkes turn next. He didn't even fight it when she reappeared fourteen years later. They got to know one another again, and they fell in love. They even got married. 

This time, she died in childbirth. And his son died with her. 

The next five times he tried. But every time she died, it hurt more and more. 

"I can't watch her die again." Was his only response to Octavia. They both knew how much it hurt to lose her. 

"It'll be different this time, I can feel it, Bell." 

"You said that last time." 

Her jaw clenched, and she nodded. "Because it has to be. It doesn't make any sense for me to get my love, but for you to live eternity without yours by your side." 

"I'm the one who cursed us. It makes perfect fucking sense." 

She shook her head. "I refuse to accept that, and you should too. Which is why, my new friend, Clarke Griffin will be coming by for dinner tonight. I'll let Sinclair know he needs to cook something up special." 

He sighed, letting his feet drop to the floor as he stood up, "O, I won't be here for dinner if she's coming over. I can't." He looked down at her. He was tired. "I can't do this any more." 

"Well. You can't die, and no matter what, she comes back into our lives. So you don't have a choice." 

"Maybe it's time I choose to think outside the box," Running a hand across his face, he shrugged. "O, I love her more than anything in this world, and I would take my own life if it meant she could survive, but I can't watch her die again. We both know I can't die, and that she will die. I can't do this anymore." 

Sighing, she took a step back and let her arms fall to her side. "I understand. And I'm sorry, Bell. But." She shrugged, arms outstretched as she backed out of the room, "Clarke is my friend, just as much as she is your one true love. And I'm going to spend as much time with her as I can, because we only have moments with people. We don't have lifetimes with them." 

"You do. With Lincoln. You have eternity." 

"Which is why I can bear to leave his side for a few days to get to know Clarke again. You don't have an eternity with her, Bell. Don't waste the time you have fighting this. You two are inevitable. Just skip to the part where you two fall in love again." 

"She had cancer last time, O. Three years after she died, they found a way to significantly help those who have cancer. We're cursed. We can never truly be together." 

Octavia scoffed. "If that were true, she wouldnt be in our lives again." 

"That's exactly why she's in our lives! I'm being punished for saving you and letting our village die." 

Her face fell and she stormed up to him, poking him in the chest. "Don't you dare, Bellamy Blake. You didn't know what you were doing. You don't get to take blame for our village." 

"I-,"

"I'm leaving." She whipped around, her hair narrowly avoiding smacking him in he face, "Clarke will be here around five, Bell. I hope you'll be here." 

He watched her storm out of the room, through the foyer and out the front door. 

She was right. He had limited time with Clarke, but if she never met him, if they never became them, maybe she wouldn't die. 

She only ever died after he told her he loved her. 

He turned around on his heel and followed the stairs up to his bedroom. He could hide away all night. He was more than strong enough to fight his feelings for Clarke Griffin. 

Even if he'd never been strong enough before.


	2. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the first chapter! I really appreciate it! 
> 
> I know exactly how this is going to end, but I think it's going to be a while before we get there. Bellamy is stubborn.

Bellamy smiled into the crook of his arm as Clarke rolled over. Gods, he loved her. Her eyelashes fluttered to life, and suddenly he was drowning in blue. “Good morning,” He whispered as he pulled his arm out from under him to reach forward and tuck a strand of bed-head hair behind her ear.

“Mm,” She murmured, rolling her neck so she could lean into the warmth of his hand. “What time is it?” 

“I have absolutely no idea,” He grinned as her lower lip stuck out. “And it doesn’t matter. Because we’re avoiding responsibility. Today is going to be a Clarke and Bellamy day. Kingdom to hell.” 

“Is it?” She quirked an eyebrow. 

Nodding, he pulled his hand away, smirking as she followed after it, and sat up on his knees. “Princess Clarke Griffin, I am going to woo you today.” 

She chuckled, moving forward so she could rest her arms on his knees, and her chin on the crook of her arm, “Woo me? Love, I think we can safely assume you’ve already succeeded. Not many men bed the princess. In fact,” She added, with a mischievous glint, “I do believe you are the first. And second. Third, and fourth, as well. Goodness, you’re a busy man, my lord.” 

He shrugged with a smirk because, of course he had. He’d known her for two centuries, now. Wooing her had become second nature. 

Reaching down, he let his hand run through her hair. Gods, he had missed her. The sun was hitting the golden sheen in her hair at just the right angle, and in this moment, he was sure she was an angel. The glowing halo swallowing her up against the window. Just like the first time he’d seen her after her initial death. She was his angel. “Yes, well,” He leaned down, grazed his lips against the crown of her temple, “Not many men are brave enough to try.” 

She nodded thoughtfully. “Even less get past my mother.”

He laughed, pulling away, “Ah, yes. The queen. She loves me, dare I say.” 

Clarke wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t say love. Mother doesn’t love anyone or anything. Unless you’d like to count her thrown.” She grinned, lifting herself up, stretching as far as she could, until she was a breadth away from Bellamy’s lips, “Though, i hasten to add, she does enjoy your company. She appreciates every lord, though I’d be remiss not to add that you do seem to be her favorite.” 

“Let us be honest, Princess,” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers gently, “I am everyones favorite.” 

“Mm, I mustn’t tell lies, Bellamy.” 

He pulled away, “Lies? But it’s the truth!” 

She laughed, rolling back over and grabbing at his hands to pull him atop her. “True it may be, but honestly, love, I haven’t a care in the world what anybody else thinks of you. You are my future king.” 

He smiled down at her, pushing up on his elbows so as not to crush her beneath him. “Is that so?” 

She nodded. “All you have to do is ask, Lord Blake.” 

He leant down, kissing her again. “And I will. But for now,” He sat back up, straddling across her waist, “You need to get ready. Shall I call for your hand maidens?” 

“I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.” She paused. “What exactly am I dressing myself for?” 

He grinned, hopping up off the bed and reaching for his pants. “Well, the theatre, of course.” 

Her eyes lit up as she sat up, barely remembering to pull the sheets up with her for modesty sake. “We’re going to the theatre?” She asked, smiling at him with the wonder he’d known her to have in every lifetime. She was always so full of life. “What are we going to see?” 

“A new rendition of one of William Shakespeares plays, of course.” 

“A new rendition? I’ve not heard of this, yet.” 

Smirking, he sat on the side of the bed, “No, I didn’t think you would have. It’s supposed to be intriguing. They say they’ve permitted women in the play.” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” He exclaimed, eyes going wide as he mocked the shocked expression on her face. He leaned forward and kissed it. “It’s going to be a night to remember, Princess.” 

She tilted her head as he pulled away. “A night to remember because of the play? Or is my love finally going to ask for my hand?” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and see. Until then,” he stood up again, buttoning the lapels of his shirt he’d pulled off the edge of the bed, “I need to make myself presentable. I have a luncheon with the queen. We’re having an important conversation.” 

“Regarding asking for my hand, I’d presume?” 

He shrugged, “Patience is a virtue, my dear. I’ll see you this evening. I love you.” 

The impatient frustration seemed to drain out of her as she let a soft smile form on her lips. “And, I you.” 

Late in the evening, as the curtains closed on the play, Clarke wrapped her hands the crook of Bellamy’s arm, and grinned up at him as they exited the theatre. “It was absolutely wonderful. The dancers were entrancing, Bell. I think I’m in love.” 

He smiled at her fondly, reaching up with his free hand to squeeze hers, “I knew you’d enjoy it.” 

They get lost in each other, staring into one anothers eyes as they await their carriage. He knew he’d remember this night for the rest of his life. Every moment with Clarke was a miracle, he knew this, after losing her three times so far, he cherished this. This give and take in their relationship. But, gods, she was a princess. And he was going to ask for her hand - with the reluctant blessings of the queen. 

The country wasn’t at it’s best though. They knew this. She’d explained it to him openly on the long nights they spent walking the grounds of the castle. The people felt cheated by the monarchy, and the queen was too lost in her power to see that things needed to be changed. But Clarke had plans for the future. To change the country when her mother passed. She was going to fix what was broken, and help those who needed help. Open the castle to the children who had lost their families to ailments. She was a good woman. She’d always been good. Kind hearted, and fair. 

Clarke Griffin was going to make an amazing Queen. And Bellamy was going to be by her side to witness her change the country for the better. And, Gods, was he proud of his princess. 

But it was when he reached into his pocket, ready to ask her the question she’d been waiting for all night, that the curse decided it was time to take her from him again. A man burst through the crowd of noblemen leaving the theatre, and raised a gun, pointed it directly at his future queen. 

Without thinking, he jumped in front of her. “Don’t do this,” He said to the man, “Don’t try to kill your princess.” 

“The Queen is blind to our pain!” The man exclaimed, “I give her no choice but to see what she takes!” And in the next instance, he’d pulled the trigger. 

The bullet shot through Bellamy’s chest, and out his back, to lodge itself into his princess’ throat. 

The hole in his body sealed without so much as a drop of blood seeping into his clothes. He stared at the man with the gun, readying to attack, rip him apart for attempting to take his princess from him, when he heard the gurgling of her attempt to breathe behind him. He turned around just in time to catch her by the arm before she collapsed to the ground. He slowly fell to the ground with her, cradling her body against his chest as her blood poured from the wound in her neck. 

“No, no, no,” He whimpered, pulling her in close. “Clarke, please, no, please,” 

She stared up at him her arm coming up to graze across his cheek. Her eyes stared at him in wonder, as she coughed up blood. 

She tried to speak, but he could’t understand through the blood. 

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, and pleaded with the gods. “Please, don’t let die. Please, please. I need her.” He squeezed his eyes tight, held her body as close to him as he could, “Please, Gods, don’t take her from me. Not again.” 

And then her body stilled. 

He could hear the man being dragged away by guardsmen behind him, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the blood slowly dripping from her body. His princess had died again. 

He gripped her body even tighter, pulled her into his chest, sobbed against the golden halo of hair atop her head. His sobs wracked both their bodies, fat tears fell and mixed with the blood pooling on her collarbone. 

“No,” He whimpered into her hair, “Not again. Please, not again. Oh, Gods. Why? She doesn't deserve this.” He buried his face in her hair, unashamed of his pain. 

He sat there as long as the guards allowed him, rocking her body back and forth, just as he had the first time he’d lost her, nearly a hundred years earlier. 

 

Bellamy awoke with a start to the sound of laughter from downstairs. He took a stuttering breath as the dream melted away, shielding itself back into his memories. Wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand, he stood from his bed and stumbled towards the bedroom door. His heart ached. It was almost as if he'd lost her all over again. 

"O?" He questioned, slowly making his way down the stairs. "What's -," he stopped, midstep between two stairs, at the sight of a blurry, beautiful mess of golden hair. His sock covered food slowly slid off the edge of the step, and landed with a thud next to his right foot. His hand gripped the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. 

Octavia looked up from across the living room. "Well," She said with a grin, "Good morning, sunshine." 

His eyes darted between his sister and the woman across the room from her. Octavia, Clarke, Octavia, Clarke. "What's going on?" He questioned finally, slowly, almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer. 

And he definitely didn't want to hear the answer. 

"Clarke needed some help with her history assignment. I told her my big brother taught me loads about history and that I could probably help her out. Brunch was just an added bonus." 

Clarke laughed, "It would have been if we hadn't messed up the recipe."

Octavia snapped her fingers and pointed at her, "Yes! We tried cooking together." 

There was a lifetime that Clarke had been a chef. Her food had been to die for. Bellamy felt the corners of his lips tug at the thought of her tiramisu and the ways they'd found to make it an inappropriate dessert for guests. 

But then he remembered she'd been caught in a fire when she overworked herself for an event, and the smile fell from his lips with ease. 

"Turns out I'm a terrible cook." Clarke shrugged. "We got flour everywhere because Octavia wanted to start a cook off, though. It wasn't pretty." 

Octavia scoffed, "That was not my fault! You're the one who threw flour in my hair." 

He'd done a particularly great job at avoiding this, until now. She'd been back for nearly two months, and she and Octavia were getting along wonderfully, as they had in early every life before. But he'd been the best damn avoider the whole damn world had ever met, until now. 

Now, he was standing there like an idiot on his staircase with only one sock on, ridiculous bed head, and his eyes were probably red rimmed from his nightmare. Gods damnit, Octavia, he thought. 

But holy hell was she still beautiful. And her smile. He'd almost forgotten what her smile looked like. 

"Only because you -," 

"Are you two arguing about the flour fight again?" A voice called from the entryway as the doors shut behind him. "Because I thought we settled this with the agreement of nobody is at fault?" 

Lincoln walked into the living room, carrying three large bags of carry out from, "Chinese? At eleven in the morning? How did you even find Chinese food at eleven int he morning?" Bellamy found himself asking. 

Octavia grinned as Lincoln set the food on the table and leaned over it to plant a kiss on her cheek, "Lincoln can do anything. Besides, it's New York, Bell, there's always Chinese food to be found somewhere." 

Clarke nodded from behind them. "Care to join us?" She asked, looking up the stair case, and somehow staring directly into his eyes with the intensity he'd always known her for.

He stared at her for a long moment. It would be so easy, he thought, to walk down the stairs and welcome her back into his life and to fall in love with her all over again. It would be so easy to fall into her gaze, and her arms, and into their bed at the end of a long day. So easy to love her again. 

"Bell?" 

He shook his head, frowned his angriest leave-me-the-fuck-alone frown and crossing his arms, said, "No." Before nodding to himself, turning around and stomping up the stairs to go back to his room. 

"He's not a morning person, is all," Octavia reassured Clarke in the distance. 

Bellamy stood at the top of the stairs, back pressed against the wall. 

"He's kind of cute when he's angry, though." Clarke laughed. 

Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting with his knees pressed up against his chest. He fell asleep to the sound of Clarkes laugher. 

He'd really, really missed that sound.


	3. Gods Be Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first reincarnation of Clarke is a french girl whose father owns an orchard.

It was Octavia who realized they weren't aging. They'd left their village nearly ten years ago, and were in Eastern Europe. She looked at him one day, ragged and worn down from a long days labor, and said, "Bellamy, you look the same." 

He'd stopped digging for a moment to look at her with a raised brow, "Well," He'd said, "We see one another daily, Octavia. One wouldn't notice change too easily under such circumstances." 

She shook her head. "No," Taking a step forward, she pulled out a pair of rusty scissors they'd been using earlier in the day. 

Eyes wide, he moved closer to her, "Octavia you must stop steeling from those that give us a home!" He whispered urgently, reaching out for the scissors. 

"I am not stealing," She responded. "But I need to show you something." 

"Octavia they will miss their scissors. The mother is a seamstress!" He hissed, looking over his shoulder at the cottage in the distance. 

She nodded, "and we'll return them. But first -," 

"Give them to me. I will take responsibility." 

Octavia stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, and dragging the scissors up the length of her arm, digging the edges deep into her flesh. 

"NO!" Bellamy screamed, dropping his shovel and running towards her. He ripped the scissors out of her hand and dropped them on the ground to inspect her arm where she'd just cut a gaping gash. 

Before both of their eyes, the cut closed itself up, leaving the faintest trace of a scar behind. He ran his hand over her arm, turned it over and back and then looked at her with wide eyes. "What?" His brow furrowed in agitation as he looked back down at her arm. "Are you a witch now, too? You know how dangerous witchcraft is! They'll burn you alive!" 

She shrugged. "Even if they did," She pulled her arm from his and raised it in between them to stare at it, "They wouldn't kill me. Bell," she murmured, looking back up at him, "I'm not practicing. I fell. And when I went to see the doctor in town, the wound was gone. I looked at you today and I realized we haven’t changed. We are exactly the same." 

He stared at her. "Octavia -,"

"When momma and Clarke, and our village all died. We're exactly the same as we were that day."

"That's not possible," He argued, "neither of us practice." 

"Then why did we survive when no other did?" 

Speechless, he looked back down at her arm. If neither of them practiced how had her arm healed so quickly? He turned away from her and leaned down to pick up his shovel, "We must get back to work," he whispered.

"Bellamy -," 

"We can not lose this job." 

With a resigned sigh, Octavia picked up her own shovel and they went back to work. 

As he hit at the dirt with his shovel, Bellamy thought back to the night he lie in bed watching his sister die in front of him. About the wish he made to his mothers gods. Had he done this to them? 

 

Nine years later they saw her for the first time. She was standing out in an orchard in Paris, softly humming to herself as she picked at the fresh grapes. "Her father runs the orchard," Octavia whispered as they hid behind a row of grapes. "She's very kind." 

"She looks just like her," Bellamy replied, voice filled with awe as the sun glinted off her hair. "How is this possible?" 

Octavia shook her head. "I don't know. I saw her yesterday, talking to some of the children. They love her, Bell." She turned her head to look up at him, "She even sounds like her." 

"I don't understand." 

Almost as if she could sense them watching her, Clarke looked in the direction and narrowed her eyes. "Who is there? My father does not take kindly to intruders! Speak now!" Her French was flawless, falling from tongue in thick waves. 

Thankfully, they'd been in France long enough to understand her. well. Long enough for Bellamy to understand her. Octavia’s French was still rusty. 

Bellamy gently pushed Octavia out from behind the row of grapes and sheepishly followed after her. "We mean no harm," He told her, his French far less flowing, choppier than any native she’d met. He could understand the language, but forming sentences wasn’t as easy as figuring out what they hell people were shouting at him on the day to day. 

She tilted her head and examined him for a long moment. Without the leaves blocking her from his vision, he could see that every part of her was the same as the Clark he'd lost eighteen years ago. Her eyes were still the same vibrant blue that made it look like she saw the world through a filter that turned everything around her beautiful. He'd spent long nights believing that was how she had come to love him in the first place. 

Though they didn't show the recognition and love he'd known through their youth, he could still see the same critical look she shot at something that confused her. Slightly judgmental, but mostly curious. That's who Clarke was. 

"You," She started, tongue twisting around the English as if she were testing it as she spoke, "Are not from here?"

Bellamy shook his head. "We are from far away." And so are you, he thought. 

"Why are you in my fathers orchard?" 

Octavia elbowed Bellamy slightly in the ribs and stepped forward, puffing out her chest a bit, "My brother can never resist a beautiful woman. He is enamored." 

Clarke's eyes lit up, "Who is this woman? I will help you catch her eye!" She grinned, wide and open, and for a moment they were back in their village, planning a future for the three of them. 

“Oh, she is very beautiful,” Octavia responded, moving closer to Clarke with a grin of her own. “He saw her but once, and that was all my dear brother needed. This woman has captured his heart.” 

“Octavia,” Bellamy warned. Though this woman looked like his Clarke, she was not the same. His Clarke had died. As much as both of them wanted it to be her, that’s all it was; a wish. And unlike the wish he’d made all those years ago, he had a feeling this one wasn’t one that would be granted. 

Octavia waived a hand behind her to silence him. “He told me he looked at her, and knew that she was the woman he dreamed to marry.” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow at this. “Your brother is . . . how do you say? Doting?” 

Octavia choked on her laughter as she shook her head. “You could not be more correct!” 

“Octavia.” 

“Who is this woman?” Clarke suddenly demanded, “I know all the women on the orchard. I can help him win her heart.” 

Octavia’s shoulders slumped a bit, “Sadly, it will not be so simple.” 

“Why is this?” 

“Octavia, don’t you dare,” Bellamy growled. 

“No, no, quiet freckle man.” 

Octavia laughed, “His name is Bellamy.” 

“Bellamy?” 

Good Gods, he thought, jaw dropping ever so slightly. He hadn’t thought it possible to love the sound of his name on her lips more than he had in the village. But here they were, and she was french, and his name sounded fucking heavenly. Not that he would ever admit it. Especially with his meddling sister ready to completely ruin the poor girls day. 

“Yes,” He whispered, “That’s correct.” Even if she hadn’t had the accent, he noted, it would still feel like a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in the deepest recesses of his gut. Beneath the accent, it was still his Clarke saying his name. Even if it wasn’t. 

“I like this name.” Clarke smiled softly, “But the woman. Who is she?” 

Octavia took another step forward, and made a large, sweeping motion with her hands. “It’s you.” 

Her eyebrows raised up high on her forehead as she slowly let her gaze move past Octavia and settle on Bellamy. He shuffled nervously in the dirt, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. 

She didn’t speak for a few beats. But then, a slow smirk formed along her lips. “Bellamy, you admire me?” He nodded. “Perhaps,” She murmured, “We can walk the orchard together. I would like to get to know you. And your freckles.” 

Octavia grinned wide and smug as she turned to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at her before flipping his gaze over to Clarke. “That would be wonderful. When would you like to do this?” 

She looked thoughtful for a moment, before raising a finger into the air with a grin. “I think, now would be a perfect time to, yes?” She looked over at Octavia. “Do you mind if I steal his company?” 

“You can have him,” Octavia laughed. “I will be in the stables, if that is okay?” 

Clarke nodded. “The horses will enjoy the company.” Her smile softened, as she looked back to Bellamy, and held her hand out to him, “As will I, I think.” 

Oh, Gods. He was going to lose himself in this replica of the woman he loved. And somehow, he thought as he reached forward to take her hand in his, he didn’t mind. Because, as wrong as it was, it was like he had her back in his life. It was almost as if she hadn’t died all those years ago. 

THREE YEARS LATER

“Bellamy!” Clarke called as she rushed into the stables, her cloak flying behind her with the wind. “You must go! I cannot hide you any longer!” 

Bellamy and Octavia both moved from the empty stall they’d been hidden in for the past week. “I am not leaving you,” Bellamy whispered into her hair as she collided against his chest and wrapped her arms around him tight. She was freezing. He pulled away and grabbed her hands in his, pulled them up to his lips and breathed hot air against the icy skin of her hands. “Have you been out all night? Clarke you will grow ill.” 

“I have no worries about this,” She replied, shaking her head and pulling her hands away. “The kings guards. They suspect I have been hiding those that do not follow the rule. I have protected you for as long as I could, but they are coming. Papa says they’re going to search our whole lands. I cannot let them find you.” She looked past him, to Octavia. “You must make him leave, Octavia. You are both in danger, and I cannot allow the king to hurt you. These rumors of revolts are not fair! He insists he must make examples of all those suspected involved.” 

“I have tried,” Octavia replied, wrapping the blanket tighter around her as she moved closer to Clarke, “But he will not listen. He refuses to leave you.” 

“Foolish!” Clarke exclaimed, turning her attention back on him. 

He’d been at the wrong end of her anger many times over the past few years, and even before then, when she was his Clarke. But, even he could admit, that this was different. She was terrified for him. And she was absolutely furious that he was so stubborn. But they both knew his stubbornness is a large part of what made their relationship work. Especially when it came to her father. Though, Bellamy suspected, her father had a large part in the kings discovering of him and Octavia. 

“You are a damned fool, Bellamy Blake!” 

Bellamy shook his head. “That may be so, Clarke. But I’m not leaving you. You are in just as much danger as we are, just as a suspect. If we disappear, they will punish you. I will take responsibility.” 

“You do not always have to do this,” She whispered, reaching up and grazing her hand across his cheek, “Because it will get you killed.” She slapped him. There was no force behind it, other than her frustration guiding her. No sting left behind. “You are not to die, Bellamy.” 

He wanted so badly to tell her the truth: He couldn’t die. She had nothing to fear. But he couldn’t. That truth could endanger her even more than the rumors of what he and Octavia had done would. 

“I will not die tonight.” 

“Correct, because you are leaving.” 

“No. We are staying.” 

“You are willing to endanger your sister to stay with me?” Clarke questioned suddenly, “Look at her!” She exclaimed, pointing a shaking finger at Octavia. She stood off to the side, shivering with the blanket pulled taught against her. “She deserves better, Bellamy.” 

“So do you.” He replied, reaching out and running his hand along her arm, “Clarke, I can not leave you behind.” 

She was silent for a long moment before she looked up at him, through her eyelashes. “Then do not leave me behind.” 

“What?” 

“Go, tonight. Take one of the horses and ride south. Wells is waiting for you already. I will follow after in a few days, when all is settled.” 

“No!” 

Octavia dropped the blanket. “Bellamy, her plan is sound.” 

“I’m not -,” 

Clarke shook his head. “We are not giving you a choice. Leave tonight, I will follow in five nights.” 

“They’ll kill you!” 

“My father would not allow this. Please, Bellamy. This is the only way to protect both of you. Please.” She wrapped her hands around his, squeezing tight. “Papa loves me, Bellamy. He will never allow the king or his men to harm me. But he does not like you. He will have them kill you. Please. If you love me, you will go.” 

Squeezing his eyes tight to will away any tears, Bellamy shook his head, “This is not fair.” 

“No. But you will see me again. You must leave, now.” 

He opened his eyes again, and Octavia was standing next to Clarke. They stared at him expectantly. Slowly, he nodded his agreement. “Five nights, Clarke. If you do not appear, I am coming back for you.” Clarke closed her eyes with a nod, and he pulled her against him and kissed her like it was the last time he would get the chance. “Remember me,” He whispered against her lips. 

She nodded shakily, kissing him once more before pulling away. “There is a horse ready. Ride safe, my love.” 

“And you be safe.” 

He let go of Clarke's hand, letting it fall gently to her side and turned to follow Octavia out of the stables. He looked over his shoulder to find Clarke staring after him. Something in his gut told him this would be the last time he’d ever see her. He knew it was true. They would never let her go after them. His stomach churned with the heavy burden of saying goodbye. But Clarke had been right. He needed to protect Octavia. 

Octavia placed a hand on his shoulder, “We will see her again,” She murmured, before hopping up on the horse and holding a hand out for him. He allowed her to pull him up. And as they rode off, he could have sworn he heard Clarke calling his name once more. 

Five days later, they awaited her arrival. Instead of her white horse arriving with merry, a dark brown horse rode onto the Wells family land. A messenger from Paris. Octavia and Bellamy watched as the young man handed the letter sealed wit Clarkes fathers’ emblem to Wells. 

He’d barely read the first line before he turned to them with a frown, and watering eyes. 

The King had killed Clarke the day after they rode off. A public execution to warn the public of the consequences of hiding away those that he wished to question. He’d used the guillotine; her head stood at the foot of the castle as a warning to all who dared second think the king. No one person, no matter family ranking, was safe from the king.

Bellamy didn’t talk for a week. Not until Octavia kneeled next to his caught and said, “We need to talk, Bellamy.” 

He stared at her, watching the way her jaw ticked as she ground down on her teeth. “What is it?” He questioned, voice hoarse, throat sore. 

It was bad, he could tell it by the way she refused to make direct eye contact with him. Octavia was strong, and she never backed down.

“I believe,” She started, “We need to go our separate ways.” 

“What?” He sat up, then, shaking his head, “No. We stay together. Always, Octavia. I protect you.” 

“I do not need to be protected. You made that possible, remember?” He looked down at his lap in shame, but she reached forward and lifted his gaze by gently pulling his chin upwards. “Brother, I love you, but we must separate. For a short while. You have lost her twice, now.” 

“She was not -,” 

“She was. We both know this. And it is okay to hurt. But,” She sighed, lifting herself up to sit next to him on the makeshift bed. “You lose her because of me. If we separate, you may find her again, and you will be happy. You will not lose her in order to protect me. Do not argue. It is your instinct to protect me, you are my brother. But nothing can hurt me. I will be fine.” She smiled softly, and reached up to ruffle his hair. “Ten years, Bellamy. Then you will meet me back home. We will see each other again. And you will find Clarke again. You are destined. Even Mama stated this.” 

“I can’t bear to lose you.” He whispered. 

“I know,” She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “But we must do this. You needn’t worry. I will come home. You have my word.” 

He stared down at her. “Nothing I say can change your mind.” It wasn’t a question, because he knew his sister. She was hurting just as much as he was. And they both had vastly different methods of mourning.

“No.” 

He sighed, kissed the top of her head. “Okay.” 

He knew she couldn’t die. He knew she couldn’t grow ill. He knew she’d be okay. And they’d be with each other once again. What was ten years when you had eternity? 

 

Bellamy sighed, letting his head fall back and hit the wall behind him. Now that Clarke was back, all he could do was think back on their past. Or, of his past with her, seeing as this wasn’t any of the Clarke’s he’d known before. She still possessed many of the same traits, and she was still just as beautiful today as she was when he was a child. 

Back in France, they’d had three years together. All of them tumultuous, despite that first meeting. He smirked at the thought of the first time they made love. They’d nearly been caught by her father. Though he had no proof, Bellamy was sure the old bastard knew exactly what they’d been doing. If the ways in which he tried to keep them apart were anything to go by. 

“Well, if it isn’t sir grouch a lot,” Clarke grinned, entering the kitchen with an empty bowl. “I didn’t know you still knew there were rooms outside of the one you lock yourself in every day.” 

He frowned. “I’m a writer, I have to spend time writing.” 

It’d been nearly six months, having her back in his life. And ever since that day on the stair case, he hadn’t been able to avoid her. Everywhere he turned, she was there. Freshly washed hair that smelled of apples in the hallways, after a sleepover with Octavia. The ugliest, loudest pink bunny slippers he’d ever seen in his life left on the living room floor when she fell asleep on the couch during a movie marathon with Lincoln. A table full of tissues after she’d had her heart broken by her longtime boyfriend, Finn. 

(When Finn turned up with a black eye the next day, Bellamy claimed to have no idea where it came from. And when Clarke looked him over suspiciously, he only responded with, “Wonder what the other guy looks like.” As he shoved another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. 

Her muttered response of, “Like an idiot,” went ignored.)

Despite his inability to avoid her, and to stay completely out of her life, he’d been doing a damn good job at pretending he wasn’t in love with her. Unless anyone asked Lincoln or Octavia - then they probably had an entirely different perspective on the whole thing. But Bellamy wasn’t going to ask them, because it was none of their business how he handled this. 

She was in their lives for eight months now, and there hadn’t been a single fucking sign of tragedy on the horizon. Unless he counted the numerous paper cuts Clarke got during her summer art classes. And considering the things that had happened to her in the past, and the current state of medicinal care, even if she had gotten a staph infection from any of those paper cuts, he was certain, that none of them would be the thing to take her from his life. 

All of this only fueled his opinion that she was only in danger if he told her how he felt. Or if he acted on his feelings for her. 

So, quite frankly, Octavia and Lincoln’s opinions could be damned, because his desperation to keep her alive was more than enough to keep him from acting on his feelings. 

Her, on the other hand, he had no control over. 

And this Clarke, was annoyingly confident. She knew she was gorgeous, and she knew damn well that he knew it too. So she used it to her advantage on the daily. 

But Bellamy Blake was a strong, independent immortal man who was more than capable of controlling his fucking hormones to keep the woman he loved alive. 

Gods be damned. 

“Write, sure. But you’ve pretty much become a hermit.” She opened the refrigerator and reached in for a grape soda. He made sure to internalize his groan of frustration, because, seriously? Of all the things to grab? 

“I’m not a hermit.” 

She rolled her eyes as the soda hissed when she popped it open. “Right, and I’m not covered in paint.” 

He frowned, furrowing his brow. “Why are you covered in paint?” He questioned, finally taking the moment to actually look her over. It was splatted all over her. Green and blue and pink and yellow; a mess all over her skin and clothes. She was definitely going to use his shower to wash it off.

Fucking Clarke Griffin. Not that he was. Fucking Clarke Griffin, that is. Just. Gods be damned.

He shook his head. This woman was simultaneously ruining his life as she made every moment worth living. 

“Lexa asked me to help her with a project.” 

“You’re still friends with her, then?” 

Clarke nodded, tilting her head as she took a sip from her soda. “Yes, Bellamy. I’m still friends with my ex-girlfriend. Why? Does that bother you? Make you jealous?” She raised her eyebrows once, quickly before letting them fall. “Because, you don’t need to be jealous. You -,” 

“I’m not jealous, Clarke,” He muttered as he stood up, “I’m just asking. She treated you like shit.” He shrugged, turning to exit the kitchen. “Just thought you’d make better decisions regarding the people you hang out with.” 

The can slammed against the counter top. He heard the contents slosh out over the top and cover the counter. “Fuck you, Bellamy.” 

He took a deep breath and turned around. I’m sorry, he thought. “In your dreams,” He stated as he turned around and shot her a conceited grin. He knew it was conceited, because he’d practiced it in the mirror nightly until he perfected it. He knew exactly how to get on her nerves. He knew how to keep her from falling for him. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think you’re so suave, Blake, but I know you’re just a fucking coward behind all that ignorance.” 

And because Clarke Griffin somehow always got the last word in, she turned on her heel and stormed out the way she’d gone in. Presumably, in search of Octavia so she could tell her what a fucking asshole her brother was. 

He sighed. 

Yeah. He was avoiding his feelings damn well. But Clarke could see through him as if he was a piece of glass. And he needed to do something about it quick, lest he wanted to lose her again. 

And, Gods, did he not want to lose her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions and always appreciated!


	4. Apologize

Octavia’s eyes shot between them angrily before she pointed a finger at Bellamy and said, “We need to talk. Now, Bellamy.” She turned around on her heel, and stormed out of the room into the hallway. Even the silence behind her seemed to wait expectantly for him to follow her. 

Sighing, he squeezed Raven’s elbow gently, and went after his sister. “What the hell was that, O?” 

“Oh no,” Octavia glared, pointing at him, “Oh hell no, Bellamy. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Bellamy furrowed his brow. “Introducing my girlfriend to my sister and our friends.” He replied slowly. 

He knew why she was mad. But, she knew why he had to do this. It wasn’t fair for her to be mad at him, when all he was trying to do was save Clarke’s life by forcing his feelings for her out of his system. And what better way to do that than to find a new person to force feelings for? Besides, Raven was a great girl. He liked hanging out with her, and despite having been there for the invention of the car, Bellamy had no idea how to fix a car. Raven? Raven was a fucking car genius. 

“She’s not your girlfriend.” 

That’s where she was wrong though. Bellamy had been dating Raven for nearly three weeks now. Not long enough to be in love with her, especially when he considered the over four hundred years Clarke had on her, but long enough to consider her his girlfriend. 

“Actually, she is. I told you I’ve been seeing someone two weeks ago, O. Why are you acting so fucking shocked?” 

“Because you are in love with -,” 

“Don’t,” He raised a hand between them and shook his head. “Don’t finish that sentence unless you’re willing to take responsibility for the consequences.” 

Her jaw dropped just slightly, before she narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you honestly thinking denying yourself - and denying you-know-who, is the reason she’s still alive? Your seriously exaggerate your self importance.” 

“She has never lived a full life. Pardon me for thinking this will protect her.” 

She scoffed. “Protect her? All you’re doing is hurting her!”

No he wasn’t. “No I’m not.” He shook his head again, a little more forcefully. “Thirty three, Octavia. Thirty fucking three. I’m not looking for a thirty fourth. And, don’t even pull that bull shit about how it’ll be like Lincoln this time, because that’s what we thought the last six times, O. We both know it’s not going to happen. Because it can’t. The only way I know that I can protect her, is by doing this.” Taking a step closer to her, he lowered his voice. “I may not be with her, but she’s there,” He pointed towards their living room, “and I know she’s alive. I may not have what I’ve had with her in the past, O, but I will not stand by and be the reason she dies again.” 

Octavia stared at him for a long moment. “You’re using the mechanic.” 

“Her name is Raven. And I do like her.” 

“She’ll never be Clarke.” 

Bellamy nodded. “Nobody will ever be Clarke. But I don’t,” He paused, “I don’t want to be with Clarke.” 

“Why do you even bother trying to lie to me, Bellamy? I know you better than anybody else.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Bell. You and Clarke -,” 

“Can never be together.” He interrupted, raising his eyebrows at her, “I don’t love Clarke, I will never love Clarke. We can barely stand one another.” True, it was all his doing, but still, the point stood. “I know you think she has feelings for me, but it’s just some stupid school yard crush that she’ll get over soon enough. Stop dreaming for a future that will never happen.” 

Her eyes darted past him before her eyebrows went high up on her forehead as she turned them back on him. “Bell.” 

“I’m with Raven, and Clarke fucking Griffin is not going to change that.” 

“Bell.” 

“You can keep trying to convince me otherwise, but god damn it, Octavia -,” 

“Bellamy!” 

He stopped. “What?” 

She nodded at the space behind him, and he turned around. Clarke and Raven were both standing just outside the doorway, staring at him with matching wide eyes. Raven’s eyebrow quirked up as she turned to look at Clarke. Clarke stood there, staring at Bellamy and Octavia. 

“We,” Raven started, turning her attention back on them, “Heard raised voices. We wanted to make sure everything was okay. Clearly not the best decision we could have made.” She made a face, shrugging her shoulders. 

Bellamy looked between the two of them. Raven mostly looked confused, and maybe even a little curious. And Clarke . . . For the first time in his life, Bellamy had no fucking idea what the look currently on her face meant. He’d never seen it before. Of course, he’d never before said that he would never be with her. So, that was definitely a factor in that, he assumed. “I can explain.” He didn’t even know which one of them he was saying it to. The words just fell from his mouth. 

Raven looked back at Clarke, then to him. “Maybe I should head out,” She said. 

“No,” Clarke shook her head, pat Raven’s arm gently, “No. I’m the one who should be leaving.” 

“Are you sure?” Raven asked, eyes furrowing suspiciously. “Because it seems like you two need to talk and,” She made a face at Bellamy, lips pinched up and nose wrinkled in distaste, “I like you, Bellamy, but I’m not really looking for drama right now.” 

“No drama,” Bellamy said, clearing his throat. “There’s no drama. My sister just . . .” He trailed off, his eyes sliding over to where Clarke stood staring down at the ground. “Octavia doesn’t know when to let things go.” 

Octavia scoffed, but didn’t say anything in response. 

Clarke nodded to herself. “Right. Thanks for that, by the way, Octavia.” She shook her head, and turned to leave. 

“God damn it, Bellamy,” Octavia muttered before following after her. “Clarke!”

Raven watched him carefully. And for the first time in nearly two hundred years, Bellamy had no fucking clue what to say. For the longest time he’d been able to read the look on someones face, and know exactly what they wanted to hear. But, he’d never been in this predicament - he didn’t know Raven in the way he knew Clarke. Hell, he didn’t fucking know her at all. And the only women he’d ever actually been in a relationship with before now were different reincarnations of the woman he’d said he would spend his entire life with. 

Now he was staring at this woman he knew barely anything about instead of running after the girl he actually wanted to be with. 

She nodded to herself. “Why does your sister think you want to be with Clarke?” 

Because he loved her. “Because she wants me to be with her.” He sighed, looking at the doorway behind her, “Octavia has this ridiculous idea that Clarke and I are meant to be. The whole magical soul mates bull shit she has with Lincoln. I disagree.” 

Raven took a step forward. “But why does she think that?” 

He shrugged. “I think, she believes if Clarke and I get together, we can be one big happy family. But we won’t. And we can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Because she’ll fucking die, he thought, running a hand through his hair. “Because. As much as I love my sister, she’s naive. She thinks the world is a wonderful place where everyone gets their happy ending. And it’s not.” 

She stared at him for a long moment before sighing. She pursed her lips as her eyebrows furrowed. “So,” She murmured, “Clarke is your happy ending.” 

Fuck. 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“It’s implied.” She shrugged. “It’s cool, Bellamy. We all have feelings for people we don’t want to have. Though, I don’t get the denial, she’s cute. And, I do like you,” She smiled at him, “But I’m not down for being somebodies way of hiding their feelings. Been there, done that. Can’t go back.” 

“I -,” 

“Of course, I would still like to be your friend.”

“Okay . . .” 

She held up her index finger, “And as your friend, I think you need to go after Clarke and apologize.” 

That was the last thing he needed to do. She was out of her fucking mind. “Octavia’s the one who -,” 

“Yeah but it’s kind of obvious that’s not all it is.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“We’ve all been on the denial boat, Bellamy,” She grimaced, “It’s not fun, or easy. And, I guess you’re floating down that river because she’s so much younger than you, but it’s only three years. I’m just saying, if you do have feelings for her, you shouldn’t ignore them.” 

“Up until two minutes ago you were my girlfriend.” 

She grinned. “Let’s just go with me being the coolest person you’ve ever met and end it at that.” 

“You are, though.” He’d known a lot of people in his time, and few compared to Raven. And though he could never have feelings for her anywhere near what he felt for Clarke, a part of him wished she could remain in their lives, just like Lincoln had. The other part of him knew better than wish anything of the sort.

“I know. So what are you going to do?” 

He sighed. He couldn’t tell Clarke how he felt, that much was a given. But, they’d been in each others lives for so long this time around, and they’d been around one another enough without some fucking tragedy stealing her from him, that maybe, just maybe, they could be friends. He couldn’t hold her or kiss her, or whisper the constellations into her ear in the long nights neither of them are able to sleep, but he could be there for her in a way he hadn’t been in lifetimes. 

“Apologize.” 

“That’s it?” Raven’s eyebrow quirked high as she examined him. 

“It’s all I can do.”

And as far as he was concerned, it really was. 

 

“First time at the races?” A familiar voice asked from behind him. His heart skipped a beat before she’d even finished the sentence.

Slowly, he turned around, and there she was. As beautiful as ever. He was beginning to think the mischievous glint in her eyes was never moving; a fixed point in his life. Something he could always count on finding one way or another. Her smile was never lasting nor promised, but the look in her eyes . . . He remembered lifetimes of the trouble it brought. 

The corners of his lips twitched as he offered a soft bow, closing his eyes. “I’m afraid so,” He murmured, standing upright again. “Can’t say I understand them.” 

Her face blossomed as a grin bloomed across her lips, “You wouldn’t be the first . . .” She tilted her head, sentence trailing off as she let her eyes rake over him. 

“Bellamy.” 

For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he’d seen recognition in her eyes; but just as quickly as he’d seen it, it was gone, replaced with curiosity. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bellamy.” 

He reached out for her hand, smirking as she lent it to him. Her eyes followed as he leaned down and pressed his lips to the skin. “I would say the pleasure is all mine,” He murmured, looking at her through his lashes, “But I feel it must be something you’re told often enough for it to irritate you.” 

He knew it did. His last Clarke had hated it. 

She nodded, her own eye lashes fluttering as he let go of her hand. “You would be correct in your assumption,” She replied. “But you’ve not asked my name, and for that, you should be ashamed.” 

He grinned. “Ah, but I felt I shouldn’t force the world to extend the courtesy. Considering your beauty, I can only assume your name follows suit.” He shrugged. “Of course, it could easily be the same as one of the horses. Though, if it is, I promise I won’t fault you for it.” 

Her laughter shook him to the core as the corners of her eyes wrinkled with it. He could barely remember the last time he’d heard her laughter. His last encounter with her was etched in his mind, but everything that lead them to that last moment had been nearly erased by the pain it brought him to think about it. 

He’d realized a long time ago that Clarke would always return. He’d lost her twelve times now. But it did not change the reality of their situation. Every moment he had with her was real, and though he knew she’d return in his future to steal his heart again, with no recollection of what they’d been through, every death cut him with the ferocity of a freshly carved sword. She had taken his heart when she died, and she had no idea. 

The woman that stood before him had no idea that they would fall in love. That their lives started in this moment, and lasted until her very last.

She had no idea what tragedy faced her to come. And quite frankly, neither did Bellamy. 

But the wounds were still fresh, then, and he swore to himself he wouldn’t miss another moment with Clarke. He was selfish, then. 

He had no idea that they wouldn’t even get a chance to begin this time around before he lost her. Before, he’d always had years with her. Time to get to know the new versions of her, to fall in love all over again. Time for it to make sense to their loved ones why he was so heart broken when she died. 

They didn’t have all the time in the world in the past, but they’d had time. He’d had chances to hold her, kiss her, to actually tell her he loved her. 

He couldn’t have known. 

“Clarke,” She replied, “My name is Clarke.” 

His smile softened as he bowed for her again. Perhaps he was being excessive, but he didn’t give a damn. Octavia was mourning Lincoln back home, and Clarke was here, again. So he wanted to make an impression; sue him. 

“I was right, then.” He whispered, leaning in close. “Your name does you justice.” 

Her lips flattened into a thin line as her eyes watched him curiously. "My mother believed she was going to have son. They were completely unprepared, so they just dropped an E to the end with the belief nobody would realize. You think my beauty is equivalent to a mans?" 

He laughed, shaking his head. "Of course not. I merely meant that your name is uniquely beautiful, just like you. Though, I do imagine there's more to you than your looks." 

She rolled her shoulders with a tilt of her head. "You weren't even stumped a little," She noted, a smirking forcing its way, "Most men stutter over their words while they try to talk themselves past it." 

"Not to sound too proud, but," He grinned, "I'm not like other men." 

"Is that so?" 

He nodded. 

"Perhaps," She replied before nodding to herself. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her eyes caught something behind him and a large, open smile blossomed as she let her eyes turn on him again, "How would you like to accompany me to the ground level?" 

"I don't know, I'm enjoying the view," He smirked as he turned to look over the balcony to where the horses had previously been racing. "I don't understand what's happening, but at least I saw it all happen." 

She laughed, reaching forward and resting a gentle hand on his forearm, "Please. Many of these men are so dull, I'd rather have someone glare them all away." 

He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her. "Glare them all away?" 

"But of course. Before I came over here, every woman in the box believed you to the angriest man to ever come to the races. And the men will be absolutely frightened." 

"Why is that?" 

"Because my mother approves of very few men. And for me to openly walk with you," 

"Will make them assume I've beaten every one of them in the battle for your hand." 

She nodded. "Of course, there is no battle." 

"No?" 

She leaned forward, "I have no intention of marrying." She whispered. 

He gasped. "You don't say!" 

Laughing, she shoved him lightly, "hush, you." 

"You are too good of a woman to be handed off to the first wealthy man, Clarke." 

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, "You've known me no longer than ten minutes. How could you possibly know that?" 

He shrugged. "I like to believe I'm a fairly decent judge of character. But I'll walk you to the lower levels." He smiled and turned back around, offering his arm out to her. Slowly, she reached forward and wrapped her hands around his elbow. "You are one of the best women I've ever met." 

"And you are," she made a face, "A man I've met." 

He laughed as they made their way towards the stairs. This was definitely his Clarke. "Fair enough." 

Her grip around his arm tightened as she leaned into his side. "Though I must admit," She murmured, "I've not met a nobleman as firm as you, Bellamy." She looked up at him as his shoulders tensed. "Don't be afraid, I won't tell if you won't." 

"I am wealthy," he replied, "I've just not always been." 

"Rare." 

He nodded. "I worked under a wealthy man who had no family. My sister and I were meant to work the lands, keep everything neat. But I always checked in on him to make sure he was okay. I didn't even know he'd added me to his will until after he'd died and the courts came trudging through the mud looking for me." 

She laughed, "You do seem the type to help people and expect nothing in return." 

He shrugged, "He was a good man. His wife and son died, and he never had the desire to start anew. I felt sympathy for him. If I ever lost my sister, I don't know what I'd do." Not that it was possible for him to lose Octavia, but still. "When he died she and I just kept working, expecting to be told we were free to move on to other offers. Instead, I was handed a piece of paper that said all of his belongings, his entire estate, was left to my sister and I. Of course, her first thought was to find new clothing." He chuckled more to himself than to her. 

Clarke smiled up at him fondly, "You love her." 

"Of course. She can be a bit of menace at times, but I'd be lost without her." 

"And still she sends you to the races alone." 

He laughed. He'd really, truly missed moments like these. Them walking aimlessly together, arm in hand, just talking about their lives. It'd been far too long since he'd had her in his arms. "I'm afraid so. Though, she does have an excuse just this once." 

"Oh?" 

He nodded solemnly. "She is a believer in true love. The man she thought she was meant to spend the rest of her life passed not too long ago." 

"I am so sorry for her loss." 

Smiling his thanks, he took the last step down the stairs and turned to face her, offering her his hand. "I will make sure to let her know that a goddess offers her sincerest apologies." 

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing playfully as she took his hand and took the final step as well, "You are simply too much, Bellamy." 

"I choose to believe that to be a compliment." 

She was quiet for a moment as she lead them towards one of the riders tents. "You should," she finally said as they reached the flaps of the opening. "Not many men make trying hard look so easy." 

"Ouch." 

Her face fell as she shook her head. "No, that's not what I -," 

He laughed, pulling away so he could grab her hand again and place a kiss against her knuckles, "I understand." He murmured against their hands. 

She smiled softly as she offered a short curtsy. "Thank you for walking with me."

"It was my pleasure." He let himself take in her appearance, making sure he didn't miss a single feature. He knew he'd see her again, it was never just a once in a lifetime meeting. They were fated to fall in love again and again and again. This wasn't a goodbye. "May we meet again," He said, as she turned around and made her way inside the tent. 

She looked over her shoulder at him, mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. "May we meet again." 

He watched her disappear into the tent with a lazy smile. 

But they didn't meet again in that lifetime. The next thing he heard of Clarke Griffin was a funeral announcement just three weeks later. The son of one of her mothers friends had killed her when she declined his wedding offer. 

He'd been given a deadline by his father to find a bride. He spent months trying to woo her, and in doing so neglected seeking out a woman who actually wanted him. He blamed Clarke for losing his inheritance and for his denouncement. 

He strangled her in the middle of the night. 

But Clarke, Bellamys beautifully ingenious Clarke, hadn't let him get away Scot free. She'd grabbed one of her fathers swords and stabbed the man through the gut without mercy. 

Though she'd been brave and strong, it wasn't enough to save her. 

They both died on her mothers estate. 

Bellamy insisted on attending the funeral, but aorta is spent hours reminding him that they'd met once on the fair grounds and if he attended the funeral it would be seen as disrespectful. So he went home, and together, they mourned their lost love.

Somehow missing out on getting to know her, hurt more than having her perfume meld with every piece of furniture in his home. Hurt more than holding her as she died. 

Bellamy and Clarke were made up of moments. But they'd barely had a chance this time around to even become a moment. 

But that wasn't what killed him. No. 

For the first time, Clarke died without knowing she was loved.


	5. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory of Octavia and Lincoln right after Bellamy gets turned on by Clarkes intensity.

“Did you,” She paused, teeth biting into her lower lip as she furrowed her brow, “Did you just apologize?” She finally asked, looking him over skeptically. “You don’t apologize.” 

Bellamy frowned. He definitely did apologize. Why was it in every life that Clarke was always surprised when he apologized to her? Yeah, he was hard headed - after living for over four hundred years even Bellamy couldn’t deny it anymore - but he wasn’t an unapologetic asshole. Well, okay. He was. But he apologized when it was necessary, damn it! 

“I apologize all the time,” He replied, affronted. 

Clarke watched him for a moment, before softly saying, “Not to me.” 

And, oh. 

That hurt. 

Jesus Christ, it would have hurt less for her to take the knife off her kitchen counter and stab it straight through his heart. And, he could recount from past experience, that any kind of sharp object to the heart was as painful as it got. That, and getting shot in the head were at the top of his list of Painful Shit to Never Experience Again. (Right under Losing Clarke.) 

But she was standing there, staring at him, and in this lifetime her gaze had never been this soft as it appraised him. Hesitant. Fuck, she’d never been hesitant when she looked him over. Ever. Her eyes were narrowed with intent, or lust, or wide with wonder or curiosity. It didn’t seem right for her to look at him like she was scared of him or what he’d say. That wasn’t Clarke. 

His jaw clenched, the muscles working over themselves as he tried to work out the proper response. 

He couldn’t fucking do this anymore. 

The soft, scared lingering of her eyes before she ducked her gaze. He couldn’t handle it. His jaw ached with the ferocity of his frustration. What the fuck was he supposed to do? If he acted on his feelings, he’d lose her again. If he didn’t, he’d keep hurting her. He couldn’t fucking win. And, at this point, he didn’t even want to win. He just wanted her to live. 

Gods, he just wanted her to live. 

He took a deep breath, crossing his arms against his chest as he licked the dryness away from his lips. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. 

“Twice in one day,” She murmured, brow furrowing suspiciously. “Did you fall and hit your head? Is that what this is?” 

He huffed out a halfhearted chuckle. He’d definitely heard her say that a time or two, or, ten. “No. I didn’t hit my head,” He replied, arms slowly dropping to his sides. “I just . . .” He paused, licking at his lips again, “I’ve just been really unfair to you.” 

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. She just stood there, watching him. Brows furrowed almost comically, as her eyes raked over him, almost as if she were expecting him to start laughing and tell her this was some belated April Fools prank or something. Then, slowly, as if she were afraid to move, she moved to the bench at the island counter, and hoisted herself up onto it. Her elbows leaned against the marble countertop and she sighed. “Why do you hate me, anyways?” She questioned, voice calm and lacking the ferocity he’d come to love her for. 

When they’d been children, before the curse, he’d despise it. Her inability to listen, and the arrogance she possessed when they were around one another. How she’d tried to boss him around when he was older, and damn it, Clarke, you’re supposed to listen to me! Her taunting laughter as she would dance off into the woods, completely disrespecting the rules. The glint in her eyes when she smirked at him some years later, when she and Octavia got caught in the woods playing with the fireflies. 

But overtime, even then, he was sure, it’d been a part of her, and was a large part of what made him love her. Her strength and her courage. Gods, her pure force of will. 

Sometimes, he found himself wishing her were more like her. He didn’t doubt that if their positions were reversed, Clarke would have found a way to break the curse. 

That is, if she were to be happy to spend eternity with his hardheaded bullshit. 

But here she was. And, though she was there, sitting right in front him, staring at him with eyes that haunted his dreams, he could barely see his Clarke. 

He’d never hurt her so deeply. He’d pissed her off, irritated and aggravated her so many times in his life. But he’d never actually hurt her. They’d never been in the position where she looked at him like she didn’t know what to say to him, or how to feel about him. 

He wondered if this felt like what she felt whenever she looked into his eyes right before she died. 

“I don’t.” It’s the only thing he can think to say. 

She scoffed. “Look, if Octavia made you come over here, you can say it, Bellamy.” 

He shook his head. “She didn’t. I’m here because I have been awful to you. And it’s not fair. You don’t deserve to feel like this.” 

Her arms fell so they were crossed atop the counter, “If this is about what I overheard last night -,” 

“It’s more than just that.” 

She sighed, looking down. “Bellamy . . .” 

“The thing I said,” He interrupted, taking a step closer to the counter, feeling a little lost, “About Lexa last month, that was uncalled for. I should never have said that.” 

She sat up a little straighter. “Then why did you?” 

They were wading into dangerous territory. Gods, all he wanted to do was tell her the truth. Tell her he loved her. Tell her everything. Fix this. The thought danced around in his head, spinning in circles around and around and around like the stupid singing birds in the cartoons Octavia loved. Fix it fix it fix it fixit-fixit-FIX IT. 

He chewed on his lip for a moment, and shrugged with a half hearted smile, “Because I’m an asshole?” 

The forced a laugh out of her. He bristled smugly as her cheeks flushed. “I can’t disagree with that.” 

Gods be damned. He loved her laugh. 

And just like that, almost as if the wall of stupidity that surrounded all his decisions when it came to Clarke came tumbling down, he moved closer and stood on the other side of the counter, leaning down on his elbows. He looked down at her, as she looked up through her eyelashes at him. “Look,” He said, licking at his lips again. He didn’t miss the way her eyes followed the movement of his tongue this time. “I’m not saying I’m ever not going to be an asshole, but I do think, I can be kinder.” 

And there it was. One eyebrow perked up as her eyes darted back up to his. The defiant arrogance. A small part of him, at the back of his mind wondered why it was he missed that damn look. It was dangerous. 

Clarke was dangerous. 

But then, so was Bellamy. 

“Are you sure about that?” And he was sure he imagined it for a moment, but then her breath was ghosting against his chin. The vague smell of orange juice tickled his nose as he nodded. His throat bobbed as he realized just how close they’d gotten. 

“I was thinking,” He said, carefully making sure he kept his eyes intently on her own. He just had to ignore the smirk forming at the edges of her lips. He could do it. Bellamy was strong. He could ignore the plump, pink, soft -

Gods be damned. 

“What were you thinking?” She probed, voice softer as she leaned even closer. 

Gods be damned, Gods be damned, Gods be damned. 

He cleared his throat. “We could start over.” 

“Start over?” 

Bellamy was over four hundred years old, and she had done this to him so many times over the years that he should not be so heavily affected when she looked at him like this. Like she could fucking eating him right then and there and expect him to still offer more. He was over four hundred years old, Gods, he had enough self control to handle Clarke fucking Griffin. 

He could certainly handle fu - no. His thoughts could no go down that path. No. 

“Yeah,” And, hell, he couldn’t even be ashamed that his voice came out as more than a whisper. Clarke had always had this affect him, and he could fucking hate it all he wanted, but he knew she loved it. He couldn’t be ashamed. Because, secretly, even he loved that after all this time, after every reincarnation, Clarke could still make his heart race. 

Even if he was trying his damnedest to prevent this. 

“How so?” 

Suddenly he was craving orange juice. 

His eyes darted down to her lips, just inches away, before he shut them tight and gulped. “As friends.” 

Okay. He had a new top ten entry to add to his list of Painful Shit to Never Experience Again: resisting Clarke. 

How the hell was he supposed to keep doing this. 

She wasn’t even seducing him! 

But the air was suddenly free of citrus, and he opened his eyes to find her seated fully in her chair again. “You and me. Friends.” He nodded. She brought a hand up to her mouth and stared at him for a long moment. Her gaze on him was so heavy, part of him wished he a chair of his own to sit in. But that meant going around the counter and sitting next to her. And that was a bad idea for more than one reason. Suddenly, she shrugged, hand dropping back to the counter. “Okay. I can do that.” 

He grinned, open and wide. And for a moment, her eyes went wide, and she seemed to stutter in her movements. She cleared her throat as he said, “Friends, then.” 

She nodded, turning her body and hopping off the bench. “Tell Octavia I’ll be over in an hour or so?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“That’s it?” 

She nodded again, a smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth, “That’s it. I’m gonna head upstairs, take a shower. Release some tension.” For a moment, he watched her, confused, before she laughed and moved to head towards the staircase. “You should think about doing the same. You look like you could use a nice, cold shower.” 

His heart stopped for a moment as she disappeared around the corner. 

“Lock the door on your way out, Bellamy!” 

He stood there for a few minutes, just staring at where she’d been standing. 

Gods be damned. He should have known better than to do this to himself. But her eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and turn to head towards the entryway. 

“What did I just do?” 

 

 

Bellamy looked up as a knock sounded, fierce and loud on the cottage door. His shoulders tensed. He lived on the outskirts of the town. He never spoke to anybody except the woman at the market. Nobody visited him. They had no reason to. He didn’t dare move. Had he stayed too long? Had someone somehow noticed he hadn’t aged? Was he the newest catch in the witch hunts? 

The knocking stopped. But then a voice, soft and broken, whispered, “Bellamy, please be here.” 

And his heart stopped right before he jumped from his wooden chair and ran across the length of the cottage to pull open the wooden door. And there she was.

Octavia. 

Her cheeks were puffy and red. She’d been crying. 

He furrowed his brow as she lifted her gaze up to him, eyes wide and watery. “Bellamy,” She whispered, before throwing herself into his arms. 

He looked around the yard, before pulling her inside carefully and closing the door behind her. He pulled down the latch and locked the door. She clung to him, tight, sobbing into his chest. 

His hand raked through her hair, getting caught in the tangled mess as he held her close. 

It’d been nearly twenty years since they parted ways in France. He couldn’t bare to leave, even after fifteen years had passed. If he left their home, he knew he’d never see her again. So he stayed. 

Their village was gone. The only evidence that it had ever stood being the debris of the huts. The bones beneath the land. His and Octavia’s memory. But he knew, when he built the cottage just east of the outskirts of where their home once was, she would know. A new village had taken residence over the land, but nobody bothered him. 

Nobody questioned his existence. A fact he was thankful for. He knew Octavia would come eventually. She was an adventurous spirit; wild and carefree. But, just like he had, he knew she’d have returned home at some point. 

But not like this. 

He hadn’t expected their reunion to be like this. 

“Octavia,” He murmured, rubbing a hand against her back, “What happened?” 

Slowly, she extracted herself from him, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Though it’d been nearly twenty years, he was relieved to see she hadn’t changed. She, too, hadn’t aged. 

“I am sorry,” She whispered, running a handover her nose and chin, “It has been too long, Bellamy. I should have returned long ago.” 

He shook his head, reaching out and placing his hand on her jaw. He wiped away the tears on her cheek with his thumb before pulling her back into a hug, his arms wrapped tight around her. He’d missed her so much. His heart ached to see her standing before him again. 

His sister. 

“You needn’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s happened, Octavia.” 

She nodded against his chest, her own arms wrapping around his torso. “I believe I suffer the same fate as you, brother.” 

He pulled away and looked down at her. “What?” His voice was harder, sterner, than he’d intended. But if she meant what he thought she meant. 

“There was a man,” She whispered, moving away to sit on one of the chairs. She bent halfway, her elbows resting on her knees as she sat, “In our village.” A wistful smile formed on her lips. “We did not know one another well. But I was enamored.” She turned her smile on him, her cheeks resting in the palm of her hands, as the tears slowly fell. “Clarke teased me, like I did you. But nothing ever came of it.” She paused, eyes drifting to the floor of the cottage, seemingly stuck on one spot on the wood. “Lincoln.” 

Bellamy nodded. “I remember. He was one of the hunters.” 

She nodded slowly. “He died, before the disease.” She murmured. “I was so sad.” 

“I . . .” He paused, brow furrowing, “I had no idea.” 

“You are protective,” She laughed softly, though the sound came out hollow. “I never told and Clarke swore an oath to keep my secret.” She looked up at him, “It would still be my secret. But I saw him. Twelve years back. He was sitting on the street, can you believe?” The word came out choked as she looked down at her feet, her hands coming up to frame her jaw. 

“Octavia,” He whispered, as a feeling of dread crept up on him. Gods, no, he though. The curse was meant to be his alone to suffer through. She wasn’t meant to suffer as he was. She’d been innocent in all of this. 

She nodded slowly, the tears seeming to fall faster. “It was a fast fall, brother. We were to marry.” She looked up at him through her dripping eyelashes. “His family, they did not approve. Our betrothal,” She paused, glaring at the empty space in front of her, “it was long. We were finally to marry a week back today.” 

He moved towards her, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands on her knees. “What happened, Octavia?” 

She didn’t respond for a long moment, as he jaw trembled. Though, finally, she turned to him, her eyes focusing in on him, “Why are we like this, brother? Why do we not age?” 

Oh, Gods, no. 

He reached up for her hands and held them in his own as she looked down, shaking her head. Her entire body shook as a sob racked through her. He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her as her head turned into the nape of his neck. She sobbed into his neck, wet and angry. 

“His family,” She managed between chord off sobs, “His family believed me a witch.” 

HIs arms wound tighter around her, as her hands crushed into between their chests. She sobbed harder, the force of it shaking them both. He pulled her from the chair and she curled up against him on the floor. He rocked her back and forth as he had when they were younger. 

“They went to the,” She paused, voice breaking as she buried her face in his chest, “towns people. They - they meant to burn me,” She shook her head, “it should have been me!” 

“Shh,” He breathed into her hair, gaze lost in the space between the wood in the floor. “Shh, don’t talk about it -,” 

She pulled away from him violently, shoving at him, as she glared at him, “I was not there! He was meant to go to the market, and I was meant to stay. But we were out of wool. So I went. The herders wife was fond of me. She was more willing to give extra rations for trade.” She stared up at him, gaze wild and violent, as she wrapped her arms around herself. “When I returned,” She stopped, visibly sick at the thought of the memory. 

“Octavia, you don’t have to -,” 

“The cottage was burning. And his mother,” She sneered, “She saw me walking down the path. And she screamed. It was the worst sound I have ever heard. I ran to her, Bellamy. I ran to her. I thought she was hurt. But she crawled away from, and she stared up at the cottage. And she screamed again.” Her hands clenched so tight her knuckles turned white around their gip on the fabric of her clothing. “All of them turned to me. It took me a moment, brother. He was dead, and it took me a moment to realize. I should have known right away. As soon as I saw the cottage, I should have realized.” 

“You couldn’t have -,” 

“It felt as if my heart was ripped from my chest,” She whispered. 

Oh, Gods. 

She gaze softened, as she let go of her dress and reached out for his hands. “Brother.” 

He took her hands and pulled her back into his arms, slowly rocking them back and forth. 

Quietly, as the motions calmed her, she asked, “Is this what losing Clarke is like for you?” He didn’t answer the question. She didn’t need an answer. His arms simply held her tighter. 

It was that night, as dusk settled in around the cottage, and the candles burned hot and long, that the two decided that would never again separate.


	6. The Second Best Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy reflects on a letter Clarke wrote him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter, but I felt bad that I haven't posted in a while. So, here's the second chapter for today :)

Bellamy closed the door behind himself. Clarke and Octavia were downstairs watching some ridiculous act packed romcom - which in no century made any sense in Bellamy’s head - and he’d decided to take some time to himself. She’d been in their lives for nearly a year now, and so far Bellamy’s approach of ignoring his feelings for her seemed to be working. Well. If you ignored the fact that she flirted with him just to get a rise out of him. And if you ignored the fact that they seemed to be spending more and more time together. But they weren’t dating, hadn’t even kissed, so he was absolutely certain the curse wouldn’t take her. 

But sometimes it was hard. Don’t get him wrong, he loved having her back in his life, especially now that they were on friendly terms. He loved making her laugh with his puns. And, to be completely honest, if somebody had told him about puns centuries ago, he probably would have found a way to work them into his career path. It’s part of the reason he’d taken to researching the skill of writing mysteries. He and Clarke had been at the book store, trying to find a gift for Lincolns birthday, when they’d aimlessly wondered down the mystery aisle. And that’s where he saw it: To Brie or Not to Brie by Avery Aames. He’d stared at it for a moment, jaw slack, before he slowly turned his wide eyed gaze on Clarke. 

“No fucking way,” He’s whispered, turning his gaze back on the book 

Clarke had rolled her eyes so hard, he was almost certain he’d heard it. “Bellamy, it’s just a pun.” 

“But -,” 

She’s laughed, and her arm reached out and plucked the book off the shelf. “We’re buying it, then. But,” She paused, quirking an eyebrow at him as his eyes followed the book in her hands. “You don’t get to make puns for a week.” 

He scoffed. “My puns are excellent. But now.” He grinned, wide eyed and crazy at her, then, “Now, I realize I’m in the minor leagues, Clarke. I’m a published author. I can totally do this.” 

“Bellamy you write romance novels!” 

“If mystery novels can do it, why can’t I?” 

Four hundred years and he had finally found his calling. And, gods, did he love the roll of her eyes and look of disgust she’d shoot his way every time he so much as looked like he was going to make a pun. It was one of the highlights of their friendship. But beyond that, there were few things that made him forget. He loved her smile, and the way she’d look at him when she was silently judging him. When she told him he was wrong in the unforgiving forcefulness he’d always known her for. Gods, he just loved being around her. And he saw now that he’d been wasting the time they had together when he was avoiding her. Because they were great at this whole friends thing. 

Of course, every time he wondered why they’d never actually successfully tried it before, his thoughts went to their past. And it was like flipping a switch in him, because they’d be in the kitchen laughing about something stupid he did, because, let’s face it, Bellamy somehow always managed to do something stupid these days. His ability to embarrass himself in front of her in this lifetime was astounding. Perhaps, it was because he wasn’t trying to make her love him again. Perhaps, not. But either way, they could be sitting there, having the time of their lives, and then it would just form; a knot right in the center of his chest, next to his heart. And when he looked at her, she wasn’t just this Clarke, she was every Clarke. She wasn’t his friend, she was his soul mate. 

It was kind of a heavy burden. So, sometimes he had to slip away. Pass her off to Octavia and Lincoln, trying to be subtle, of course. And, Octavia understood, for once, why he had to take some time to himself. Why he had to lock himself away. She didn’t know what he did. Gods, if he told her, she’d never have let him live it down. It’s not that it was embarrassing. Bellamy could handle embarrassing himself. He liked to think, like telling puns, embarrassing himself was a missed career opportunity. A million dollar idea that Octavia could have cashed in on hundred of years earlier.

This, though, wasn’t. 

He flipped the lock on his bedroom door and slowly made his way to his closet. Once there, he pulled open the door, pushed aside boxes full of shit that he couldn’t be assed to wonder what they were, and reached to the far back of the top shelf until his hand settled on a small music box. Carefully, he pulled it down and turned to his bed. The music had long since stopped working, as it was one of the few items he’d taken when they initially left their village. But, it still held some of the most important things he owned. 

Smiling softly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted the top of the box. Though he knew the sound would not play for him, as it hadn’t played in centuries, he still held his breath in the anticipation for the chiming of the first note. When nothing came, he shook his head, sighing softly as he scooted back against the headboard and crossed his legs. Octavia didn’t know he still had this box, or about any of the things inside it. It’s not that he meant to keep it a secret from her, it was just the one part of his life that was his, and his alone. 

He’d shared it once with Clarke. In the early twentieth century. They’d been together for nearly five years at the time, and she came across it while they were cleaning the house. She didn’t believe him when he explained; when he tried to tell her about their long standing history. Sometimes he thought it was the curse, that no matter the amount of proof, no matter what he said, Clarke adamantly refused to believe that he was immortal and that she kept dying. Perhaps it was his fault that time around, when he’d been a fucking magicians apprentice. 

He shook his head, reaching in to pull out a photo. They were backstage at an event. He’d taken over the show, as the usual magician had been sick. Clarke was laughing at him, nearly doubled over, and he was covered in bird feathers, looking beaten down and abused. He’d been booed off the stage for fucking up the trick, and Clarke had loved every moment of it. The photo had ended up in the newspaper the following week, and he’d cut it out as soon as he’d seen it. It was the very same night that Clarke found his music box and brought it to his attention. And though she didn’t believe a word he told her, even when he went so far as to add, “You know I’m a terrible magician!” she still did something that made him love her all the more. 

He hadn’t even known she’d done it until after the funeral six months later. 

He set the photo aside, and reached in to pull out a letter. The envelope itself was frayed, and nearly falling apart from the amount of times he’d gripped in his hands, or cried all over it. Carefully, he pulled at the yellowing seal, and reached into the envelope to pull out the letter. He’d been more careful with the letter. It’s folds were dangerously close to breaking, but the rest of the paper was carefully preserved. Somehow, he’d always remembered to cry into the envelope instead of the letter. At least he had some self preservation instincts after all these years. 

Carefully, he set the enveloped aside and opened the folds of the letter. 

Though her appearance, voice and name had never changed, her handwriting evolved with her in each lifetime. Compared to the chicken scratch her present incarnation called handwriting, the flawed loops and curls of her words in the letter were beautiful. He reached up and wiped at his eye before anything could prematurely drip all over his mementos. 

_Bellamy,_

_Though I don’t understand any of this, the box, the stories, you, even, I respect that this is important to you. Perhaps, you’ll tell me the truth one day, what all of this is. Perhaps, not. But I love you, dearly, and I wanted to give you something._

_I’m sure I’ll tell you soon, love, but I thought you might like it in writing as well. You’re going to be a father. And I’m going to be a mother. Terrible odds for our future child, I think. You’re an absolute mess, and I’m out of my mind. But I found out this morning, and I have no doubts that you will be irrevocably overjoyed. You’re on a trip, with Octavia. Lincoln says I shouldn’t worry, but I do. Every time the two of you disappear to see your mysterious family. It’s a long trip, and I only hope for you safe return._

_But enough of that. We’re going to be parents, Bellamy. Us. You and I are going to raise a child, and bring it up in this world, and I’m sure we will make mistakes along the way, because we’re us, but I have no doubts in my mind that you will be a wonderful father. And I’m hoping you’ll think me to be a great mother. We’ve been so scared, for so long, Bellamy. And after the fiasco with the show last month, this won’t be easy. But nothing is, is it?_

_You think you’re cursed. And I know I say you’re a curse on me daily, I just want you to know that you are not. Not a curse, and not cursed. This is life. Life is difficult, and we must fight for those we love, and that which we seek to be. A man as kind, and gentle as you are - and don’t you dare deny it, Bellamy Blake - could never be cursed. We are kismet. We met despite the odds, and we fought through everything life has given us. And here we are. We’re married, and we’re going to be parents._

_And, I know Octavia and Lincoln will both say we’ll be terrible parents, but they’re wrong. Our child may end up . . . Different, but I know you will protect him or her with your life._

_You’re the second best man I know. (Lincoln is still the kindest man I’ve ever met, and I still cannot believe you actually hated him at any point.) But you are the only man I have ever, or will ever love. And I look forward to the challenges the future offers us two._

_One day you’ll find this letter, and you’ll absolutely have a fit over the line about being the second best man I know because you somehow always focus on one thing. I’m hoping we’ll both be old and gray when the time comes, because we both know I’ll age much more gracefully than you, sad, but true. (I promise to love you even when your second chin developes - because, gravity and time will catch up with you, you heathen - and when you’re old and wrinkly and yelling at our own grandchildren to get off our lawn). But you’ll be too old to chase after me, and I’ll be sitting on our porch swing - a request I’ll be making when you return - reading to our grandchildren._

_I never thought I’d want this. And it’s terrifying. But we’re daredevils, you and I, and I think with you by my side, and me by yours, we can handle just about anything._

_Unless our child is anything like Octavia._

_…Please, dear lord, let my traits be stronger than yours. I was a good child. Of course, once mother died, I did go a bit crazy, didn’t I?_

_Perhaps we should just wish for a son._

_I must start on dinner, now. But I love you, always, Bellamy Blake._

_Travel safe._

_Yours truly, and with utter detest at the state of your laundry,_

_Your wife, Clarke._

_Ps. Please hurry home. You know how much I hate cooking. I burned a pie yesterday. How? I haven’t the slightest idea._

The knot that had formed in his chest downstairs, was slowly working its way up his throat. Forcing tears down his cheeks. Gods, he hadn’t even gotten past the letter and he was already crying. 

He never even built the porch swing for her. 

He set the letter on his lap and reached up to wipe at his face. This had been a terrible fucking idea. She was downstairs, watching her shitty move with Octavia, and he was up here, reading a letter written nearly a hundred years earlier. He was reminiscing on the only proof of his past with her, while she sat downstairs, a prominent future possibility. 

A soft knock sounded on his door. He cleared his throat, carefully putting the papers back in the box. “Uh, who’s,” He cleared his throat again, “Who is it?” 

“It’s Clarke. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, why?” 

Clarke’s shoes scuffed against the floor in the hallway. “Well,” She said, “Your door is locked. And you sound like you’ve been crying. So. I’ll ask again, are you okay?” 

He sighed, shoving off the bed and carefully placing his blanket over the box. “I’m not crying,” He muttered, making his way across the room and unlocking the door. He pulled it open and looked down at her. “I don’t cry.” 

She scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I saw you watch The Notebook, Bellamy.” 

“I was just upset that somebody else had written that story already.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re so full of shit.” He shrugged and she sighed. “Look. We’re heading out, do you want to come with?” 

“Where?” 

She shrugged halfheartedly, “Does it matter?” She asked with a shake of her head, “You have been in a funk all day. Lets all go get drunk and then you can wax poetic about history or the stars, or whatever you choose to drunkenly ramble about tonight, and forget about whatever it is that’s bothering you.” 

“Nothings bothering me.” 

She sighed again, thoroughly done with him. “You have fifteen minutes to get ready, otherwise,” She smirked, “I’ll come back up here and dress you myself.” 

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Right. Fifteen minutes it is, then.” 

She laughed before turning on her heel and walking down the stairs. 

 

He’d barely stepped foot off the ship, when a body came barreling into him, wrapping their arms around his neck tight as they clung to him. The soft, blonde hair ended up in his mouth, and even as he made a face, and reached up to pull it out, he found he didn’t mind. He’d missed this. He gave up on the hair, and wrapped his arms around her. Smiled into the mess of hair that he was probably going to spend ages trying to get out of his mouth, because somehow, Clarke’s hair always managed to find itself on him. 

“Hello stranger,” He whispered into her ear. 

She laughed, and hugged him tighter. “You’re home,” She murmured, muffled, into his chest. 

“I am, aren’t I?” He laughed, too, before trying to pull away. She held fast. He chuckled, “Come on, Clarke, it’s been months. Let me get a good look at you, love.”

She pulled away, just enough for him to see her face, and her eyes rimmed with happy tears. “I’ve a surprise for you,” She said, nose wrinkling adorably as she let go with one arm to reach up and brush down her hair. “I’ll forgive you not noticing for the pure joy of seeing me again.” She grinned, before fully pulling herself away from him, and taking a step back. His eyes dropped down to her stomach, then up to her face, down and up again. She was grinning up at him, eyes twinkling behind the tears. “The doctors say I’m due within the next two months.” 

He felt something bubble up inside of him, overflowing as he laughed. “You’re,” He stopped, laughing again as he ran a hand through his own hair. “I’m -,” He stopped again, before stepping forward and scooping her up in another hug, arms wrapped tight around her back. “We’re.” He was completely incapable of completing a sentence. 

She laughed, nodded into his chest. “We are.” 

He pulled away again, hands going to her face as he pulled her in for a kiss. 

“Honestly, you two,” Octavia admonished from behind him, “We are in public. Save the reunion for when you get home, won’t you?” Clarke laughed, pulling away from Bellamy and turning fully to face Octavia. Eyes wide, a slow grin filled Octavias face. “You’re pregnant!” She exclaimed. 

“I am!” 

Together they laughed as Lincoln appeared beside Octavia, placing a kiss on her cheek and reaching for her bags. Octavia stopped mid-laughter to shake her head at him. “I am more than capable of carrying my own bags.” 

“I know,” He stated, pecking her on the lips and taking the bags anyways. 

“Honestly,” Octavia huffed. 

Clarke smiled, reaching forward and grabbing Octavia’s now free hands, “Come on,” She said, “We’ve rented a carriage. He’s waiting for us. You won’t believe all thats happened since the two of you have been away. Let them take the bags, come on.” Octavia pursed her lips for a long moment before smiling with a roll of her eyes as she let Clarke tug her along to the carriages. 

Bellamy watched them walk along, a soft smile seemingly glued to his lips. Lincoln nodded next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is the one,” He murmured, “You’re going to have a family with her.” The double meaning behind the words went unspoken both they both knew what he meant:

Clarke couldn’t die this time. 

Only, four weeks later, she went into labor early. She screamed. She cried. The baby was surgically removed from her body. The baby did not cry when it came into the world. Bellamy had been there, holding her hand, telling her she was going to be okay. He held tight, hoping that someone that would keep him from losing her. If he held on tight enough somehow the gods wouldn’t be able to take her from him. 

But then the doctors realized what was wrong, and by then it was too late. 

He sat in the hospital that night, staring at the ground in front of him. His baby had been born without breath. He’d suffocated in Clarkes womb, because her body betrayed her. Bellamy knew it was his fault, the fact that they were both now dead. He knew he’d done this. He should’ve known better than to think he could have this with her. Should’ve known the gods would only take her again, even after giving Lincoln back to Octavia forever. 

The three of them moved the next morning, and never stepped foot in California again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think?


	7. Alcohol Makes Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke are drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick so I've got a lot of time to write right now! There might be another chapter sometimes tonight, as well!

"Alright, tall, dark and angry," Clarke started, stumbling over to him and sloppily climbing onto the stool next to him. "Let's hear it." She smiled wistfully at him as she leaned overtop the table, her arms outstretched and crossed over the length of it. 

Gods, she was adorable like this. He'd rarely seen her drunk in past lifetimes; most of the time it was improper. Although there were moments he was able to sneak her some win, or rum, and the time of them would sit together off from everyone else and slowly lose their wits. Usually those nights ended with her skirts rolled up over her waist and them up against the wall. 

But this was different than those times. Both of them were completely, and totally wasted. He'd had more shots of tequila than he'd probably ever had in his entire fucking life - all thanks to Octavia, who's reasoning was, "It's not like you can get alcohol poisoning, Bell. Drink up!" And her smile was so large and giddy and tipsy, and he wa already halfway there and Clarke was sitting next to him, downing her own shot that it would have just been rude to refuse. And, okay, yes, Bellamy can be a dick some of the time - okay, most of the time, he was man enough to admit it - but when Octavia looked at him like that, all hopeful eyes and evil little sister pout, well. He couldn't say no. 

And the little brat knew it too. 

And he'd be pissed, but Clarkes eyes were glazed over and focused in on him and only him and he was so far gone that he couldn't even remember why it was he was supposed to be pissed. 

So he smiled down at Clarke, resting his elbow on the tabletop and his head on his hand. His fingers tangled in his hair as he scratched at his scalp for no reason. He just felt like scratching. "Hear what?" He asked, raking his fingers through his hair. 

She narrowed her eyes up at him, leaning forward even more, and her hands leaned over the edge of the opposite side of he table. "What's got your panties in a twisty turny roller coaster ride of angst?" 

He raised an eyebrow at her, but quickly forgot what it was he was silently judging her for, and leaned in closer to her. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

She rolled her eyes in a large, exaggerated fashion, the whole of her head following the motion, "The moping and hiding. You've been locked away all week. And we were supposed to go see that stupid movie with whatsherface." She lifted an arm and pointed at him as if she didn't know how to control her arm, the digit waving around in front of him, "Not cool, man, not cool." 

"You've been spending too much time with Jasper," Bellamy noted, letting go of his hair and grabbing the finger still waving dangerously close to his nose. His head nearly dropped to the table in the process but he head enough sense remaining to catching himself before he toppled off the stool. Gravity was a cruel beast to fight with. 

Fucking Gravity. 

"That's cause," she said, staring at where her finger was caught in he middle of his fist, "You don't wanna spend time with me. Jasper and Monty actually like my com... Com.... Pony. Pony? That's not right." Her eyebrows furrowed impossibly, and she looked down at the table in confusion. "Pony?" 

He watched her for a moment, before bursting into a boisterous, drunken laughter. He could barely see her pouting up at him through the tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. "I'm - I'm sorry." 

She frowned, reaching up with her free hand, frowned harder when the elbow locked with the one currently caught by Bellamy, and weakly punched him in the shoulder as her elbows looped each other. "Pretzel punch." 

He didn't know why he did it, but next thing he knew, he was smiling down at their hands and the words just fell from his mouth. "Gods, I love you." 

Bellamy Blake was a lot of things. A good, decent drunk he was not. A sensible, smart drunk? Maybe - no, he couldn't lie to himself. In no way had he ever made smart or logical decisions while intoxicated. Over four hundred years and he should have known better than to say yes after the fourth or fifth shot. But, no. He had no self control when it came to the killer combo of Octavia and Alcohol. And after a certain point, the same point that usually ended up with him and Clarke wandering off to find some alone time, he was guaranteed to do something stupid. 

At least. More so than he usually did. 

Slowly, without even realizing what he'd done, his gaze moved from their hands to her eyes. She was staring up at him, slack jawed and wide eyed. They sat there, gazes locked in on each other for a few long moments. Part of him was tempted to lean forward and send them down he same path they always went every time they were like this together. But something kept him back, staring down at her. Watching her as she watched him. Playing the watching game. 

Gods he was drunk. 

"What are you two losers even doing?" Octavia's voice suddenly crashed over them, her face coming in between the two of them. Her hair blocking Clarkes face from Bellamys view. 

Cruel, cruel world. 

"I think," Lincoln said from behind her, "You're interrupting, Octavia."

Bellamys brow furrowed as Octavia turned to look at Lincoln over her shoulder. "Really?" She asked. "He just needed alcohol?" 

Suddenly, Clarke stood up, wobbling in and out of Bellamys line of sight. "I think I'm ready to..." She looked down at the table, confused, "the thing. With the car. And the house. And the, oh," she looked up, smiling as if she had a secret to keep that she couldn't help but tell the world, "bed. I wanna go to bed." 

Well. That secret was a let down. 

Octavia scoffed. "Clarke we're just getting started!" 

"More alc- alco- ," she paused, frowning down at the table top, "I'm a doctor I should know this word." 

Lincoln laughed, suddenly appearing next to her and steadying her as Octavia watched on in amusement, "You're not a doctor yet, Clarke. I think we can forgive your forgetting." 

Clarke smiled at him, "You're so nice, Linkin Log." 

Octavia looked at Bellamy. "Did she just -,"

"Best person I know!" Clarke shouted. 

Octavia's mouth snapped shut as the words sounded loud and clear for Bellamy. Not as loud as the music, but loud enough for him to realize why he couldn't tell Clarke how he felt. 

"Oh." 

Shoulders tense, Octavia reached forward and rubbed Bellamys shoulder. "You two are so drunk right now," She murmured, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "For someone as big as you, Bell, you're a fucking lightweight." She turned her gaze on Lincoln and a giggling Clarke. "Alright, giggles, we're going to get you two an uber home."

"What about you?" 

Even drunk Bellamy wasn't about to leave his sister behind in a fucking club. 

Octavia rolled her eyes, as her grip went snakelike around his bicep, "Lincoln and I aren't done dancing yet," She told him as she yanked him off his chair and steadied him against her side. "Help me out here, Bell. You're fucking heavy."

"This is a bad idea." He wasn't sure what the hell he meant, but he figured the sober part of him - deep, deep, _deep_ down - did. Drunk Bellamy trusted sober Bellamy to make good decision. 

That didn't make much sense though, did it? And that was exactly why Drunk Bellamy put everything on sober Bellamy because at this moment in time Bellamy had no fucking clue. About anything. Ever. 

And he'd lived through two fucking world wars and a civil war. 

He didn't know why that was relevant at all. 

All he knew was that Lincoln and Octavia were slowly walking him and Clarke out of the club until they were standing on the curb outside waiting for an uber. "Uber is a funny word," He muttered. "Ubbbbbeeeeeeer." 

Octavia side eyed him. "Bellamy, you speak German. You've known the word longer than the company has existed." 

He shrugged. "It's still funny." He leaned forward, flinching slightly as Octavia held tighter to keep him from falling to the ground like an asshole, and looked at Clarke. "Uber." 

She stared at him for a long moment before her lips curled in, and the edges of her eyes crinkled. And then they were both leaning on their respective Sober Buddy laughing so hard they could barely breathe. He reached across Lincoln and Octavia and grabbed Clarkes hand. She squeezed his hand as they slowly slid to the ground, held up only by the vise like grips on their upper arms. 

Octavia looked at Lincoln, who simply frowned at her. "What? I didn't expect him to get this bad!" 

Lincoln smirked before leaning down to pull Clarke back up, "But you had hoped." 

Octavia made a face, slightly guilty, mostly proud before sighing and leaning down to pull Bellamy back up. "Stop it you giant idiot," she told him, "If you keep making an ass of yourself you're going to hate yourself in the morning." 

Bellamys laughter slowly faded as he grinned smugly at his sister. "I do that every day anyways!" He accentuated the statement with a finger point to the sky. "So, ha!" 

"Yeah you're a real winner." Before he could fully comprehend the sarcasm, a black Corolla pulled up along the curb. "Oh thank gods," Octavia murmured, "Come on, you two. Time to go home." 

Bellamy climbed into the backseat first, slammed his head against the opposite doors window, and dizzily watched as, with Lincolns help, Clarke climbed in as well, gracefully sitting down in her seat. Lincoln buckled her seat belt, and Bellamy looked up at him expectantly. 

Laughing, Lincoln shook his head, "I wouldn't dare," he said, "If you wake up tomorrow and have a memory of me buckling you up, you'll hate me for at least a month. You can handle a seat belt, Bellamy." 

"So many buttons." 

Clarke rolled her neck and looked at him. "It's one button." 

Bellamy nodded in agreement. "Exactly. So many button." 

Lincoln went around to the front, told the uber driver something, and then they were off. Bellamy looked out the back window, watching Octavia and Lincoln. She was staring after them, and Lincoln had his hand on her waist, seemingly reassuring her of something. Bellamy shrugged and turned back to Clarke.

She hiccuped and looked at him. "Can I te-tell you a," she paused, offered a glare at the back of the drivers head, and turned back to him, "a secret?" She whispered the last part, leaning in closer to him. 

"Always." 

And the look in her eyes changed for a moment, softened as she looked him over. But then she shook her head and leaned in closer, her hand flattening against the middle of the seat between them to steady herself, "I don't want to be a doctor."

Even drunk, Bellamy realized this was A Big Fucking Deal. 

"But you're almost done with school." 

Drunk Bellamy was an articulate drunk. 

She nodded slowly, leaning back and resting her head in the back of the seat. "I know! It's no fun. And my mom," she shook her head, "just not what I want." 

"What do you want?" 

She turned her head and looked back at him. "Other than you?" She smirked, eyes still glazed over, and turned her gaze back on the roof of the car. "I like to draw." 

"Draw?" 

"Mhm!" She sat up straight and turned to him, grinning her big dopey drunk smile, "I had to take a, uh oh. An um." she pursed her lips, furrowing her brow almost angrily, "the word, what's the word?" 

Bellamy had no fucking idea. He was still stuck on her first comment. But, he reached forward, and gently rubbed at the area between her eyebrows. "You'll get a headache," he murmured, as his thumb relaxed the area. "You think too hard." 

She stared at him, the smile slowly falling from her lips. "Bellamy..." 

His arm dropped down into his lap. 

Hesitantly, she reached forward and grabbed his hand. He looked down at their hands, her practically porcelain skin against his much darker skin. And he turned his hand over, Palm up so he could lace his fingers through hers. Slowly, he slid his eyes up to hers again. 

She seemed so much closer now. Maybe he'd moved closer, maybe it was her. He didn't know; he didn't care.

"Clarke." 

It felt like everything he'd pent up, everything Sober Bellamy had become a fucking miracle worker at keeping to himself, exposed itself in just that one word. Just her name. Neither of them said anything else as it all settled around them.

And then, in the same breath, they both leaned forward. 

 

"She's a musician. A prodigy, Bellamy. And she's amazing." Octavia grinned at him from her seat at the piano, "She offered to teach me. She's so kind. She's always kind, though, isn't she?" 

Bellamy sighed, "Octavia." 

"And she's single. No man anywhere in her life. Unless you count her brother. But they're only partly related, so it hardly counts." 

"O." 

"Honestly, Bell. I think somehow she's even more beautiful than last time." 

"That's because the last time we saw her, her stomach was gaping open and she was covered in blood," Bellamy growled, shoving up from his seat, and throwing his newspaper on the coffee table. "What are you expecting of me, Octavia? I'm to join the war in three days time." 

She stared at him, openly shocked at his anger. "You can easily get new documents, and you two can be together." 

"And what of Miller? Am I to send my only friend off to war alone? To be with a woman I will have but a few moments of happiness with before she inevitably dies while I barrel on ahead, alive and unkillable?" 

She nodded. "Lincoln and I don't waste any time." She murmured, "When he is here, I spend every waking moment I can with him. I wouldn't dare throw away any of that." 

"Despite knowing you will watch him die." 

She sighed, stood up from the piano and walked across the room. Her dress trailed after her carefully. It was strange, the two of them wearing clothing so expensive. Strange being a noble, even still. "The pain, it is unbearable, I will admit this much," she told him, "But the time we have before it. The time where we get to be as we are? I wouldn't give it up for anything. Least of all my selfishness." 

"You think I'm being selfish?" 

"I think you're being an imbecile. But selfish works as well." He knew sending her to the tutors would only backfire on him eventually. 

"How could I be being selfish when all I want is for her to live?" 

"Because you refuse to love her!" She exclaimed, arms spread wide, "When she's gone you refuse to love because you feel as if you're betraying her. But then she's here, and you fight it, you fight it for so long, that when the time comes - it's too late. You have her for the blink of an eye, Bellamy. And she loves you every round. It's as if the two of you are meant for one another, and you circle each other like a lioness and her prey, but neither of you do anything. I am absolutely sick of it!" 

"Some would say it's more selfless, than selfish." 

"Those who would say such a thing don't know you." She shook her head, "Bellamy. You will continue to lose her, but you know that you'll always find her again. You have to let your pain guide you, you can't let it stop you. You've said it before, letting her die without the knowledge that she was loved..." 

What was he to do? Losing her; it was excruciating. But Octavia was right. He looked at his sister, resigned. "Perhaps she'll survive." He murmured. 

Octavia nodded. "And even if she doesn't," she replied, making her way over to him so she could grab his hands and hold them tight in hers, "She'll come back. She always comes back." 

He gripped her hands. "And the war?" 

"You've done enough for this god forsaken country. France doesn't deserve you." 

"But -," 

"I know." She smiled up at him softly, as they both turned to look out the window, "I still remember that day in the orchard. Gods, it's been so long." 

"Nearly a century and a half."

They didn't say anything for a long moment.

"She's German this time," Octavia finally said, a small smirk creeping up on her lips. "And here I thought her French accent was funny." 

Bellamy pulled his hands away from her with a huff. "Honestly, Octavia." 

"What? It was! And it certainly is now. I haven't the slightest idea how you'll move past that accent. Maybe that's why she's prettier. To help you forget what her voice sounds like." 

He glared at her, arms crossing against his chest, "I hope Lincolns mute next time you see him." At her playful, shocked gasp, he added, quietly, "and I liked her French accent." 

Octavia laughed. "I know. I'm disturbed to know that you'll probably quite enjoy the German accent as well. Even if she does sound like a baby when she attempts words with an R in them." She waved a hand in the air as she headed towards the entryway, "Though I'm sure you'll simply find that endearing. She'll be by for dinner!" 

"What! I'm hardly dressed for company!" 

"Then I'd suggest doing something about that," She called as she disappeared around he corner.


	8. Can't take another heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's past is eating him alive, and Clarke just wants to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i said I'd have it up the other day but my cold turned into bronchitis and I wasnt up to doing anything. But I'm in california, and the plane ride gave me some time to write. There will definitely be another chapter tonight, though. And, yes, the story is almost over.
> 
> This chapter has a lot of flashbacks in it.

Bellamy smiled down at Clarke, his hand stroking through her hair. She looked up at him, small smile on her lips as she laced her fingers through his free hand. “What are you thinking about?” She asked, staring up at him through her lashes, from her place on his lap. 

He shrugged. “Just about how happy I am,” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead as their hands rested on her stomach. “I have you, and we’re going to have a family. We’re happy.”

She nodded to herself, eyes fluttering shut as his lips pressed gently against her skin. “We are, aren’t we?” She smiled, opening her eyes again as he sat upright. “And to think, four years ago we met with me punching you.” 

He laughed, “Ruthless.” 

“Me? You’re the one who drunkenly grabbed my rear!” 

He nodded, making a face, “First time I’d gotten drunk in I don’t even know how long, and the last. Even if it did bring you into my life.” Constantly, he had to remind himself not to mention that she’d been in life before. He smirked, then, leaning down and pecking her on the lips. “Cant say I’m mad about what happened after you punched me, though.” 

She laughed into the kiss, “Yeah, I suppose it wasn’t so bad.” 

He pulled a breadth away and stared down at her through half lidded eyes. “Wasn’t so bad? I’m pretty sure you were saying something else when it happened.” She shrugged beneath him, and reached up to run a hand from his jaw up to his hair. Bellamy sighed, content, leaning into her hand. “Your fascination with my hair is unhealthy.” 

She chuckled, “And yet,” She murmured, grabbing a fistful and gently pulling at it, “You don’t cut it.” 

***

“Princess,” Bellamy stated, smirking down at her as she entered the garden. 

She narrowed her eyes at him as she crossed her arms over the bodice of her dress. He wondered if it was as painful to wear as it looked. “What are you doing here?” She questioned. “And how is it that when you say it, it sounds like an insult? _Princess_ ,” She shook her head, “It’s almost as if you hate what I am.” 

He shrugged. “You left so quickly after our dance, Princess,” He smirked, thoroughly proud of how frustrated she got every time he said the word. He knew as well as she did how much she despised what being the princess meant. But that she would take her responsibilities in stride, and do whatever it took to do right by her country. “And,” He added, taking a few slow steps towards her, his hands clasped behind his back, “In the interest of complete honesty,” He murmured, “I do not think there could be anything about you for me to despise.” 

She watched him, taking a hesitant step closer to him as well. “Lord Blake -,” 

“Bellamy, Clarke, please.” 

She nodded slowly, taking a stuttering breath. “You called me by my name.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” 

“I could have you taken by the guards.” 

“You could.” He said, smiling as he met her in the middle of the garden. “But you won’t.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

He shrugged with one shoulder, his hands unclasping from behind him. “Because,” He whispered, reaching forward, and holding his hand out between them, “I believe I owe you a dance.” 

She stared down at his hand, and he found himself wondering if he’d read the entire situation wrong. They’d been flitting around each other for months; ever since he first walked onto the castle grounds and spotted her staring down at him from the tower. Before he could drop his hand to his side and wonder if this would be the time he’d been expecting for years; for her to appear but to not love him, she reached forward and placed her hand in his. “Honestly,” She said, looking up at him, “That’s hardly a fair reasoning to prevent your arrest. You would simply be found guilty with that defense, Lord Blake.” 

“Bellamy.” 

She sighed, “Bellamy.” 

He smiled softly. “Shall we?” He asked, turning towards the courtyard in the garden with an outstretched arm, palm up. 

She looked between him and the courtyard, before returning his smile and taking a step towards the center. “We shall,” She said, “But I must warn you. This dance must be absolutely revolutionary, or I’ll have,” She yelped as he suddenly spun her around directly into the center of the courtyard. He smirked, as she reached up and placed her free hand on his shoulder, laughing. “You absolute brute.” 

He chuckled, pulling her closer to himself as they moved around the garden. He leaned down, and whispered into her ear, “You love it.” 

She didn’t reply for a moment. But then, as he pulled away to spin her again, she nodded. “I do.” 

***

“Bellamy!” Clarke laughed, pulling his arms apart from where they clasped around her waist, and turned to him, “I am trying to work!” 

He smiled down at her, hands going down to hold her hips “Mm,” He hummed, pulling her closer, “I see, but we were to go down to the village. A day to ourselves, remember?” 

She sighed against him before gently push him away. Her hands stayed planting on his chest as she looked down at their feet. “I remember, yes,” She said, softly. “But father. He does not,” She furrowed her brow, “I do not know the word.” 

“He doesn’t approve.” 

She nodded. “That is the word.” 

He shook his head, dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “Clarke,” He murmured, “Your father will never approve of us. And I do not wish to push you two further apart than I already have. But,” He took a step back, “I love you. And I think we may have a future out there. If only you give us the chance.” 

“You have been speaking with Octavia.” 

He felt one corner of his lips turn up as he nodded. “I have.” He shrugged. “But so have you.” 

“My father,” She started, seemingly looking for the words she needed. “I love him. But he is not understanding. He does not wish me to leave him. When mother died, it was me that he had. I am all that he has.” She frowned, wringing her hands in front of her. “And he is all that I have.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“But it is.” 

“No.” He moved forward again, taking her hands in his. “You have me. You have Octavia.” 

“But you will soon leave.” 

He frowned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. What the hell did that even mean? She had to have known that he had no intention of leaving her now that he had her. “I have no intention of leaving you, Clarke.” 

“What is . . . _intention_?” 

He smiled softly, “Desire.” He held her hands between them, “I have no desire to leave you.” 

She looked up at him through her lashes. “And if my father were to chase you with a pitchfork?” 

“I’d sooner let him impale me than leave you, Clarke.” 

“I do love you,” She whispered, “But I am scared.” 

“So am I.” 

“What of our future?” 

“We go one day at a time.” He said, leaning down and resting his head atop hers, and running a hand through her hair. “I won’t lose you.” 

“And I won’t lose you.” 

He smiled into her hair. “Then you won’t. But,” He pulled away and grinned down at her, “Put the grapes away. I’ve an entire afternoon planned for us.” 

 

***

“Just who do you bloody think you are?” Clarke screeched, storming into the house. 

Bellamy looked up from his piano and furrowed his brow and set aside his newspaper. “I’m not entirely certain what it is you mean,” He told her, slowly standing up. “Have you hit your head?” 

She glared at him, pointing an angry finger at him. “You had absolutely no right to walk into the orphanage and, and -!” She stopped, breathing heavily as he met her halfway across the room. 

“And, what, Clarke?” 

“Tell them to give me the day off! I do not work for you! I do not work because I have to. I actually enjoy working with the orphans, you absolute,” She paused again, seeming to look for the right word to explain how she felt about him. “You absolute . . . Ugh!” 

He tilted his head, staring down at her. “You’ve run yourself ragged. Last we spoke you were nearly dead on your feet. I was just trying to give you the opportunity to breathe. Clearly, you’re doing your fair share of breathing right now. How about slowing it down? Leaving some air for the rest of us? You’ll faint if you keep up.” 

She narrowed her eyes into slits and pointed a shaking finger at him again, “You have no right.” 

“To care?” 

“Yes!” He raised an eyebrow and she deflated a bit, glowering. “No. Yes. I despise you!” 

“You despise me?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Huh.” He nodded to himself, “That’s a shame.” 

“ _What?_ ”

“Because I don’t despise you.” He turned around, walked over to the his chair and sat back down. He knew this would come, it had been a long time coming. Ever since shed started tutoring Octavia on the piano, things had been rocky between the two of them. But she was a hard worker, and she rarely took the time to care for herself, looking after everyone else. Octavia, the orphanage, the people living in the streets of france. She wasn’t even French, and yet she gave all her time to France and it’s people. Much like Bellamy. But even still, he loved her, and the ridiculous pride she seemed to possess this time around. 

But he wasn’t about to let her die for stretching herself too thin. She was an orphan herself, so he understood why she felt the need to spend so much time at the orphanage, but even she deserved a moment to herself. Even if she didn’t wasn’t to admit it. 

“In fact,” He murmured, “I quite like you.” 

“I can’t stand you,” She retorted, storming across the room to stand directly in front of him. “You have no right to interfere in my life.” 

He nodded. “You’re not wrong.” 

“Then why do you insist on making my life more difficult?” 

He looked up at her. “I like to think I’m attempting to make it better.” 

“Nothing about you makes my life any better, you absolute mad man!” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do.” 

“Then I’ll keep that in mind,” He picked the newspaper back up and held it above his lap, “But I think I’ll be getting back to the paper, if you’re done yelling at me.” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be done yelling at you.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes!” 

He nodded, humming thoughtfully. “Then what are we to do about that, Clarke?” She stared down at him in disbelief, before groaning in frustration, turning on her heel and storming out of the room. “Have a great day off, Clarke!” He called after her. “Do try to enjoy it.” 

The slamming of the front door was her only response.

He smiled to himself. 

 

***

“Bellamy?” 

Slowly, his eyes opened to find her sitting at the kitchen counter, arms wrapped around her waist. He sat up on the couch - when had he fallen asleep? - And smiled sleepily at her as he raked a hand through his hair. “Mm, morning, Clarke.” Her gaze was locked on the floor in front of him, and he frowned. “Clarke? What’s wrong?” 

“The doctor called.” 

He sat up straighter, throwing the blanket off him, as he moved his feet over the side of the couch. “What’d she say? It’s nothing to worry about, right?” 

Her gaze slowly slid up until their eyes met. Almost hesitantly, she shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “No,” her voice was so low, he could barely hear it across the room. “It’s. I,” She paused, shook her head and stood up, “I have cancer.” 

His heart stopped. “What? No.” 

Her sob barely broke free from her chest before he was off the couch, across the room and pulling her into him. 

 

**** 

The queen stood next to him, poised and stoic as usual. Together, they watched as the coffin was sealed away. His chin trembled, and his jaw locked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

She looked at him, and reached out to place a hand on his arm. “You made her happy,” She said, soft, “I’m sorry.” 

He looked down for a moment before turning to look at her. He placed a hand overtop her. “Your majesty -,” 

“Bellamy, I should think our shared grief is enough for you to call me Abigail.” 

He nodded. “My apologies, Abigail.” 

“Nonsense,” She muttered, with a shake of her head. She reached up with her free hand and quickly wiped at her cheek. “Clarke would not have you apologizing to me while we are grieving. In fact,” A small, solemn smile graced her lips, “I believe she would be quite frustrated with such a thing.” 

“She would yell.” 

“Maybe stomp her foot about.” 

“Demand we get along.” 

They laughed softly. And then their gazes were once again on the crypt Clarke’s body was in. They stood in a comfortable silence for a few minutes until the queen let go of his arm and pat his shoulder softly. “You would have been a wonderful son in law,” She whispered, before turning and heading back towards the castle. 

 

***

“Octavia says you’re a genius.” 

Bellamy looked up from his journal, and smiled up at her. Octavia had warned him that Clarke would be coming by, but the sight of her still made his heart skip up a beat. “Not a genius, I’m afraid. Just a professor.” 

“One in the same, though, aren’t they?” 

“If that’s what you’d like to believe. How can I help you, Miss Griffin?” 

She shrugged, moving into the room, one slow step at a time. “I’m not entirely certain. I just wanted to . . .” She frowned, furrowing her brow. “I’m not sure. Last we spoke, I enjoyed our conversation.” 

“Is John not the engaging conversationalist?”

She shook her head with a slow smirk. “John is a strange man. He’s started asking people to call him Murphy. I’m beginning to worry for his health.” 

“As you should.” 

She laughed, finally moving to sit in the chair across from his desk. “Tell me, Bellamy. How does a man such as yourself end up here?” 

“Teaching at Oxford?” 

“No. Where you are in life. Clearly you’ve done more than teach,” She motioned towards him, “You’ve not got the body of a professor.” 

He smirked, raising an eyebrow, “Why, Miss Griffin, have you been admiring your professor?” 

“You’re no longer my professor.” 

“This is true.” 

She grinned. “I remember why it is I’ve come to you.” 

“Do tell.” 

“I’ve come to ask you to dinner.” 

 

Bellamy awoke to a pounding head, and a blinding light streaming through the window. Where the fuck was he? He stretched out, groaning as his bones and muscles creaked with the motion of it. He couldn’t die, but he could get hungover. Absolutely, disgustingly unfair. He frowned when his hand bumped into something warm and soft beside him. He sat up. How the hell had he gotten home? Looking down, he saw a large, human-esque shaped lump beneath the blanket. Carefully, he reached down and lifted up a corner. Beneath it, a halo of golden hair sat atop his pillow.

Oh gods. No.

Clarke. 

Almsot as if the gods were trying to punish him further, Clarke groaned, eyes fluttering open and looking directly up at him, where he sat over her. She squinted, frowned. “I fell asleep with my contacts in,” She muttered, sighing as she slowly pushed herself up. 

And yeah. That was all he needed to see to know what they’d done.

Oh, Gods.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t know what was worse - the fact that he’d slept with her or the fact that he couldn’t remember it actually happening. Okay, in the grand scheme it was definitely the fact that he’d pretty much just signed her death warrant, but in the moment - in the moment, Bellamy was at an utter loss for words. 

Clarke got up, barely bothering to cover herself with a sheet, and made her way to Bellamy’s bathroom. 

The twenty first century work out systems had really done amazing things to her ass. Dammit, no, Bellamy. He winced, pressing his thumbs to his temples. Gods, how much had he drank? 

Clarke appeared in the doorway again, bleary eyed, and clearly just as hungover as bellamy. She stumbled across the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Bellamy chewed on his lip and looked down at his lap, to avoid staring at her bare back. “So,” She said, voice gruff. 

“Did we -,”

“Yep.”

Well, at least one of them remembered. That was something. Still, though. “Fuck.” 

She was silent for a moment, before slowly turning to face him. He looked up, realized that she was still naked, and looked back down at his lap. She sighed. “Look,” She started, “We had sex. We should at least be able to say the words. We’re both adults, we got drunk and -,”

“And it can never happen again.” 

Her mouth snapped shut so fast he thought he heard her teeth clank together with the force of it. “I see,” She murmured. She got up, walked across the room and picked up something off the ground. “Actually, no,” She dropped it, and it whooshed to the ground with a soft plop. “No, I don’t see. You _like_ me Bellamy. I’m not stupid, and I know you’re not stupid, so you clearly know that I like. I’ve done nothing to hide it since we first met. So what the _fuck_ is the problem here?” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

She scoffed. “It’s only difficult because you’re making it difficult. _Why?_ ” 

“Because nothing good can come of this.” He looked up at her, desperate for her to understand. But if the look on her face were anything to go by, she didn’t understand. Not by a long shot. He sighed, “Clarke . . .” 

“Would it really be so awful?” She asked, quiet.

No. That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? Him and Clarke, every moment between them is electrically charged. Even their fights were exhilarating - when they weren’t like this. The awful part is what comes after. After he admits to her, to anyone, that they are meant to be. That he loves her with everything in him. He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Things were going well. With us as friends. Why can’t we just keep things as they are?” 

“Because I don’t want to be your friend.” She laughed, hollow and sad, “Last night, you made it seem like you wanted more, too.” 

“I was drunk.” 

She scoffed again, “Ever heard the phrase _A drunk mans words, are a sober mans thoughts_? Why do you keep fighting this? I have been drawn to you for some inexplicable reason since I first saw you, even though you are the most infuriating asshole I’ve ever met. Even Finn treated me better than you did in the beginning.” She held out her hand, pointing an angry finger at him, “And don’t think I don’t know you’re the one that punched him after what he did. What the fuck was that if you don’t care about me?” 

He wasn’t going to lie. Being compared to Finn stung. “You know I care about you.” 

“Then explain this! Explain why you’re fighting this so fucking hard!” 

“I can’t.” And he really, really couldn’t.

She stared at him, mouth agape before huffing out a breath and nodding to herself. “Of course,” She muttered, leaning down to pick up what she’d dropped. She started around the room, picking up her clothes and putting them on one by one. “You’re a fucking disaster, Bellamy Blake.” 

And just like that, she was gone. His bedroom door stood open, and he listened as she made her way through the house. Listened as her footsteps disappeared down the stairs. 

And he thought the hangover was going to be the worst part about his morning. 

But, he thought as he lowered himself down and curled up under the covers, at least she was alive. Now, he just had to make sure she stayed that way. He denied himself, she’d live. But they’d slept together - he didn’t know how that would change things. If that meant he’d lose her all over again. He could handle this. He could handle watching her walk away from him, so long as he didn’t have to watch her coffin lowered into the ground again. His heart wasn’t capable of taking that again.

It could, however, take being broken if it meant saving her.


	9. Lincoln

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln gives Bellamy a bit of a verbal smack down. In the polite, Lincoln manner.

Lincoln knocked on the door frame. “You awake?” Bellamy groaned. His head was pounding angrily. It was as if his brain had taken all of Clarke’s anger and was pushing it against him in a punishing jackhammer force. Lincoln seemed to take this as an invitation and walked into the room. “I just saw Clarke leave,” He said, “She was crying. Angry, but crying.” 

Fuck. 

“I did what I had to do.”

Lincoln sighed, moved further into the room and leaned against the wall opposite Bellamy’s bed. “Did you, though?” He asked. 

Bellamy opened his eyes, glared up at him from the pillow. “Yes. You know as well as I, that it had to be done.” 

Lincoln shook his head. “No, I don’t think I do.” He crossed his arms, “I’ve sat by, watched your relationship with her blossom, and form. The memories from the past, they come when they want, but there’s always a flash of her in them. I’ve been here for all of it, Bellamy, and I’ve been on her side of whatever this is. And I haven’t said a word. I’ve let you and Octavia work through this, because you have been suffering through it for so long. But I think it’s time for me to say something.” 

“If O can’t convince me -,” 

“I’m not here to convince you, Bellamy. I’m here to talk to you. Not at you.” He pushed away from the wall, running a hand over his shaved head, “Look. I love Octavia, really, truly, I do. But sometimes, she doesn’t realize what people are experiencing. She sees it from her perspective, and sees how she would resolve the situation. She doesn’t think about how you would resolve it.” He paused, seemingly waiting for Bellamy to interject - but he wasn’t wrong, so he continued on, “With us, she saw only one solution. She didn’t fight it. In every lifetime we met, we fell, we loved, I died. And so it went, until I stopped dying. She believes if you do what we’ve done, you’ll get the same outcome.” 

“But I’ve tried that.”

Lincoln nodded. “And every time you tried, you lost her.” He glanced down at the edge of the bed, shook his head and moved to lean on the wall again. “I don’t think this is about allowing yourself to be with her. And I think you know that as well. I think you know what you need to do, but you’re too scared, and too wounded by the past to even think about allowing yourself to let go.” 

Bellamy frowned, finally moving to sit up. His vision went blurry, and he took a moment to collect himself before he shook his head. “I just let go, Lincoln. I just made her walk away.” 

“This Clarke is not the one you need to let go of.”

And, now he was confused. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe Lincoln was purposefully being vague. He’d never been one for understanding anything Lincoln said, though, so it was probably more a combination of the two. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say. And I think I’m too hungover for this.” 

“They are all the same woman, Bellamy.” 

“I know this. I’ve known this for centuries.” 

“You know it, but do you accept it?” 

“Lincoln,” He started, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose as a wave of nausea washed over him. “I’m hungover, nauseous, and my head is pounding like a construction team decided my brain needs a remodel. If you really expect me to get your cryptic shit today, I regret to inform you, it isn’t happening. Maybe we can talk about this when I’m not experiencing the closest thing to death I’ve felt in a long time.” 

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “You and Octavia are both so dramatic,” He muttered, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small container, and tossing it on the bed. “Take two, it’ll help with the headache.” 

“Advil?” Bellamy asked, reaching forward and greedily grabbing the bottle up. “Why didn’t you start with this?” 

“Because you made her cry.” 

And, okay, Bellamy didn’t deserve the advil. He sighed, dropping it back on the bed. “Okay. Just. Less vague, more of the getting to the point.” 

Lincoln smirked before shaking his head again. “Alright. The woman you loved in your first life. The clarke you first lost. You haven’t let go of her.” 

Bellamy frowned. “I don’t know what thats supposed to mean.” 

“It means, that for over four hundred years, you’ve seen Clarke. You’ve fallen in love with her. You’ve lost her. But every time, you focus on what will happen, and what has happened, that you forget to focus on what is happening. You get this look,” He added, furrowing his brow, “I see it in Octavia’s eyes every once in a while, too. You’ll be staring at her, but you’re far away. You compare her to what she used to be. To the original Clarke.” 

“I can’t help it.” 

“Sure you can.” 

Bellamy sighed, letting his head gently fall back against his headboard as he closed his eyes, hoping that blocking out the sun would at least help with the headache. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” 

“You’ve never lost her, Bellamy.” 

He lifted his head back up, despite the fact that it felt like a bowling ball resting on his shoulders. Had his head always been so fucking heavy? Staring at Lincoln through half lidded eyes, he said, “I’ve been to more of her funerals than I like to remember. I’ve lost her many times, Lincoln. Maybe you forget, because you were also dead a few of those times -,” 

“So fucking dramatic,” Lincoln grumbled, “She always comes back. Fact?” 

“Yes.” 

“She always dies. Fact?” 

“Yes.” 

“She always feels drawn to you, and you to her. Fact?” 

“Yes. Where are you going with this?” 

Lincoln smiled. “When I woke up. After the hunter shot me, everything came back in this big, dizzying blur. I was so disoriented. I forgot who I was, what year I was. But then I saw her. Octavia. And she was staring at me. And I’ve never seen her so vulnerable. Even when I died in her arms, she was strong. Brave. Perhaps she fell apart after I was gone, but when we were together, she was always the strongest woman I’ve ever known. But I was sitting there, eleven lifetimes weaving in and out of each other. Her chin was trembling. Gods, her entire body was shaking. And then the sound she made, when she realized that I’d stopped bleeding. That I wasn’t dead. You remember that sound.” 

“Yes.” Of course he had. It was like all the pain had been ripped from her body in one fail swoop as she sobbed. One, jarring, broken sound pulled from her chest as she ran over to him. 

“I don’t remember dying.” 

“Because you didn’t.”

He shook his head. “No, Bellamy,” He said, shoving away from the wall again, “No. I don’t remember any of my deaths. I remember the fights. The witch hunts. I remember everything in bits and pieces, but I’ve never remembered how it felt to die.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

“Because,” Lincoln said, soft as he moved closer to the bed, “I don’t think I’ve ever died.”

Bellamy scoffed, waving a hand in front of him. “Lincoln, I can confirm that you have definitely died. In some of the most brutal ways imaginable.” 

“Yes, I _know_ that. My body died multiple times, I realize this. The way I see it, though. And the way I’m hoping you’ll eventually see it is like this: my life, is fragments. I came, I went, and I came back. No one life is meant to last forever, we know this. I never truly died, because I always came back. Few are so lucky. I never actually died, Bellamy. Octavia and I, we lost sight of each other at times, but we always found one another. We always fell in love again. We always moved forward. Because, that is what my life was. Fragments. We are all fragments. You and Octavia, you have lived long, and perhaps that is why these things affect you so deeply. Maybe that is why the Gods did this.”

Bellamy sighed, “I’m still not following you.” 

“Let me simplify, then. Clarke doesn’t die,” He held up his hand, “Bear with me for just a moment, Bellamy. Hear me out. I’m talking _to_ you, not at you. I need you to _listen_.”

“I am listening.” 

“You need to stop seeing her deaths as the end.” 

Maybe Lincoln was on drugs. Good thing he hadn’t taken the advil, after all. Who knew what the fuck he was trying to make him take instead. “Death is literally the definition of the end. Do you need me to pull up the definition?” 

“No,” and, yeah, Bellamy could definitely tell that he was getting irritated. He knew he’d never hurt him, but Lincoln was nearly twice his size. Bellamy was allowed to be slightly intimidated. “She always comes back to you, Bellamy. Your Clarke, the girl from our village, she is back. She keeps coming back. She is your soul mate.” 

“That version of Clarke is gone. As is every version other than the present.” 

“No. When I survived, everything came back to me. We are not separate people, Bellamy. We are one. Every vision of me, is me. Every version of her, is that girl you fell in love with in our village. She is still alive. You may lose one another, but she is still there. And you need to stop being afraid, because you miss out on this. You miss out on the fragments that make up her life.” 

Bellamy shook his head with an empty laugh, “Have we not realized that what’s happening between Clarke and I is not the same as what happened between you and Octavia? You had ten lifetimes, Lincoln. She’s on her 34th life. I have watched her die in more ways than I care to discuss, and you expect me to openly welcome that pain into my life? You want me to take advantage of the situation?” 

“Yes, that is exactly what I think you need to do.” 

“No. No way in hell am I going to let her die again! She only dies when she knows I love her!”

Lincoln stared at him for a moment. “Then explain the races. Octavia told me you met once in that lifetime. You couldn’t even go to the funeral, Bellamy. How do you expect to take blame for that death?” 

“I wasn’t there to protect her.” 

“But you’ve said, the only reason she dies is because you tell her you love her. Because the two of you decide to ignore fate, ignore the gods, and take a chance. Explain why she died in that lifetime, when you were no more than a stranger.” 

“Because we will never be strangers!” 

He smiled. “Exactly.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked at Bellamy carefully. “I think, when you are willing to accept that you control nothing, when you stop being afraid, that is when she will stay. I understand it hurts, I do, Bellamy, but you must understand, Clarke, she doesn’t feel the pain when she dies. She never remembers those moments. All she knows, is the here and now. The one thing you refuse to focus on.” He pat at the blanket above Bellamys leg. “You’re over four hundred, and you’ve never lived life in the present. When you’re with her, you stress over the future. When you’re without her, you reminisce on the past. Live, Bellamy. You need to live. If you don’t start, I don’t think she’ll ever have the chance.” And with that, he pat his leg one more time, before standing up. “Just think about it.” He murmured,d before turning to leave the room. 

“. . . Lincoln.” 

He turned back. “Yeah?” 

“How do I . . . “

He shrugged. “You just have to stop being afraid, Bellamy.” 

And, Gods, that was certainly easier said than done, wasn’t it? 

 

“I heard about Charlotte,” Bellamy murmured, standing in the doorway of Clarkes office at the orphanage. “I’m so sorry.” 

Clarke looked up from her paperwork, and offered a small, solemn smile. “I appreciate your sympathy. But I do have work I need to be doing, so if you’ll please leave.” 

Bellamy shook his head and moved into the office. “If you think I’m going to leave you alone while you’re like this, you do not know me at all, Clarke.” He sighed, kneeling next to her desk, and placing a hand on the arm of her chair. “You do not always need to take the weight of the whole world on your shoulders.” 

“And what do you expect me to do?” She sneered, glaring down at him, “Share my pain with you?” 

“That is exactly what I expect you to do.” He gazed up at her, soft. “You are an amazing woman, and you could take the world by storm with only your music. But instead, you work in an orphanage, against your mothers wishes, and you tutor these kids who have absolutely nothing in this world but your love. You tutor my sister, who, Gods, I love her, I do, but she is not meant to be a musician. The poor piano suffers when she bangs her fingers on the key with the force of a warrior.” He smiles as that gets a small, breathy chuckle from her. 

“Bellamy,” She started after a few moments, “You and I. We are not of the same breed.” 

“We are dogs, now, are we?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do.” 

“Nothing could ever come of us. I’ve been disowned by a woman who is not even my real mother. I make money tutoring the children of noble families, and I use it all here.” She shook her head, and looked up at the ceiling. “Nothing could ever come of us. Needless to mention we can hardly stand one another.” 

Bellamy smirked. “You say this a lot,” He murmured, “But from what I can tell, it is you who can not stand me. I enjoy your company immensely.” 

“I am almost always yelling at you!” She exclaimed, turning her gaze back on him. 

He grinned. “Not many people do that anymore.”

“Shocking.” 

He laughed, moving his hand so he could grab hers in his own, “I have not always been a noble. We came into our money. I know nothing of this world, Clarke. But, I do know that whenever I see you, I forget the problems or our world. One look in your eyes and I forget I’m to fight in a war.” 

“You’d wish me a widow?” 

“If you’d have me, I would never leave you. I would come back from battle, just for you, Clarke. I wish to be the one you turn to when the children are in need. I wish for you in my life. And, even if we continue on as we are, I want you to know,” He pulled her hands towards his mouth and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “Even as you yell at me, I will always be here. When something goes awry, and you feel broken or confused, or crushed by the weight of the responsibilities you’ve given yourself, I will be here. Friend, or lover.” 

She stared down at him with watery eyes. “I despise you.” The words held no heat to them, and he smiled. She watched him fro a moment, before using the hand he still had in hers to pull him up to her height. She looked into his eyes, hands on either side of his jaw, and pulled him into a soft kiss. Their lips barely grazed one another, before he felt soft tears fall between them. 

He pulled away. “Clarke?” 

She shook her head and pulled him in for another kiss. “I don’t deserve you, Bellamy Blake.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to prove you wrong, then, won’t I?” 

Even then, when he had her so close, he wondered when he was going to lose her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one or two more chapters left. Let me know what guys think! :)


	10. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more on Octavia and Lincolns history and Bellamy gets a surprise.

"O?" Bellamy questioned as he stepped off the staircase. His living room was full of boxes and furniture - and it wasn't their antique items they had stored away, so she wasn't doing her once yearly item browsing. 

Every year she went through all their old stuff. She claimed it helped her relive some of the better memories. Bellamy, personally, wouldn't touch any of the shit with a ten foot pole at this point. Memories held pain, and he had quite enough pain already, thank you very much. 

He made his way through the living room, eyebrows furrowed disapprovingly at everything. None of this had ever been theirs. And Octavia gave up on her thrift store obsession years ago. Though, the song had almost sent her in a downward spiral of money spending. Not that it mattered. They had enough money for several more lifetimes. And Bellamys books only brought in more money, so. 

But that was beside the point. 

"Octavia? What the _fuck_ is going on in here? We don't have a living room so you can keep filling it with shit!" 

He was still angry at the world, too. He knew yelling at her - wherever the fuck she was- wouldn't make him feel better about the fact that he hadn't seen or heard from Clarke in nearly a month, but, not everything he did had to make him feel better. Sometimes he just needed to yell. 

Luckily his sister was a mischievous little - 

"Jesus," Octavia finally called, working her way through he maze of boxes from the kitchen. Even the kitchen was packed? Who was he kidding, of course it was. This was Octavia. Pack rat extroardinarre. "Calm the fuck down." 

Despite being nearly a head taller than her, he lost sight her amongst the boxes. "I am calm!" 

She scoffed from somewhere in the center of the boxes. "Yeah right. And this isn't shit! It's Clarkes stuff." 

Wait. "What?" 

"Because," she finally appeared a few boxes away from him, "she's moving in." 

"What?"

Bellamy might have been going into shock. 

No, no. Bellamy was definitely going into shock. 

"Come on, Bell, we talked about this last week." 

Uh, no. They hadn't. Bellamy would have remembered a conversation about _Clarke_ moving in. Bellamy would have remembered literally any mention of Clarke at any point in the past month. She's taken to only spending with Octavia at the house when he was off doing readings, or out for a prolonged time. Other than that, she and Octavia only hung out elsewhere. The mall, the park, the fucking grocery store. Basically anywhere Bellamy wasn't. And, gods, he wasn't ashamed to admit it:

He fucking missed Clarke Griffin. 

It wasn't the overwhelming pain he felt whenever she died. It wasn't the guilt over not being able to save her. It was different, knowing she was there, but never seeing her. Or knowing her. Or experiencing life through her skewed view of everything. It was a bit like he was missing a part of himself. It was, and pay no mind to the cheese, Bellamy wrote romance, like he was the sun, and she was the moon. Cursed to an existence of mere glimpses, but no touch or sight. Perhaps that's what their curse was. Him to live until the end, but for her to come and go with the tide. 

He always missed her, though. Even when she was in his arms in the past he started missing her, because he knew soon he'd lose her. There wasn't a day in his life, since her first death, that he didn't miss her. But now, now she was avoiding him. And ignoring his calls. Though, he had stopped trying after a week of being sent to voicemail. 

So. He would have remembered any mention of her. 

"I think I would have remembered you saying Clarke is moving in with us." He paused, furrowed his brow, "And she's avoiding me, so why would she even think about moving in?" 

Octavia rolled her eye. "She's avoiding you because you're an asshole." He couldn't disagree with that, even if he wanted to. "And I told you. She dropped out of med school and her mom flipped." 

"But they're almost as rich as us, she could -,"

Clarkes mother was the head surgeon at the largest hospital in the state, and her father had been an engineer. Needless to say, they were loaded. 

Bellamy liked pointing out pointless facts. It made him feel important. 

"No, Bell. Her mom kicked her out. Locked her out of her trust. She doesn't have anything except what was in her dorm and the money her father left her, which shes using to re-enroll as an art major." 

"She was almost done, though." 

"Yeah, well. She realized she didn't want to do things because other people wanted her. She said she's taking charge of her life." She grinned up at him, cocking her hip out and putting her hand on it, "Every aspect of it." 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He paused shook his head, "wait. You still haven't told me when you actually told me she's moving in with us." 

"Last week. When her mom went all Godzilla on her." He raised an eyebrow and she sighed. "You were in your room moping, and I said Clarke needs a place to stay, and could she please stay here and you said yes." 

Now he remembered. She had never actually said it was Clarke. She'd said a friend of hers was in a bad place and needed somewhere to stay. They had plenty of rooms, of which they only used two, so he didn't see the harm in letting them stay. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd still had said yes if she'd actually said it was Clarke. 

"You know damn well you didn't say her name!" 

Octavia scoffed, but before either of them could say anything, a voice called, "Octavia, I am so sorry. The movers were early and I was meeting with the dean," as she spoke, her words got closer, until Bellamy could see the crown of her hair stopping at the entryway to the living room. "Oh my god, they just put it all in the living room. Fuck, I am so, so sorry!" 

Octavia laughed, making her way through the boxes towards her, "Don't worry about it. You still have to choose a room, and I've figured out the maze they left to get through. Hang on," She added, forcing her way through a particularly tight spot between the couch and Clarkes bed frame. "Lincoln helped me clear out a couple rooms, I'll help you through and you can pick one." 

"How long has it all been here?"

"Not long. You know I'm good at getting around."

Clarke laughed. "I'd disagree but you're letting me stay here, so, yes. You've never been lost." 

which was a lie. Octavia had lived through every change this city could offer in the past fifty years, and still she got lost on the subway, or on the way to work. Or in the neighborhood. For a woman bordering genius intelligence, and who had learned how the world work long ago - Octavia had little to no sense of direction. 

Which was ridiculous considering she grew up in time where there were no GPS’. 

Octavia laughed as well, “Yeah, yeah. Bell!”

Bellamy froze. Fuck, he’d been hoping she wouldn’t say he was standing there like a fucking creep. 

“Bellamy’s in here?” Clarke whispered urgently. “Octavia!” 

“Oh hush. Bell, stop being creepy.” 

“I’m,” He stopped, cleared his throat. “I’m not being creepy.” 

She scoffed. “Yeah okay. are you just going to stand there or are you going to start carrying Clarke’s stuff upstairs? Lincoln will be back soon to help you.” 

Before he could reply, he heard her pulling Clarke through the mess of what used to be his living room. 

He looked up as they reached the stairs, and Clarke looked back down at him. His heart stuttered in his chest, and she smiled softly with a nod of her head, before allowing herself to get dragged upstairs. 

Gods. Be. Damned. 

Four hours later saw Bellamy, Lincoln, Octavia and Clarke sitting on the floor of the hallway, sweaty and exhausted. Bellamy sat across from Clarke, both of them resting their heads against the wall, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling as Octavia ordered the takeout.

"Great, thanks. Yeah we're at the end of the block. Perfect. Thanks." She hung up and Bellamy rolled his head so he could look at her. "Man, I'm so glad delivery exists." She stated, annoyingly chipper. 

"You know," Lincoln started, "I could've gone to get it." 

Octavia waved her hand. "Don't be ridiculous. We all deserve a little bit of down time. Especially these two," she laughed, nodding to Bellamy and Clarke, still panting against the walls. "Jesus, it's like you guys haven't done a day of work in your lives. Which is sad because you both spend so much time at the gym." 

Bellamy scoffed. "You didn't do a damn thing, O. If you'd carried half as much as the rest of us -," 

"I was guiding you!" 

"You were bossing us around." 

"It's my greatest talent, Bell, what can I say?" She heaved herself up off the floor and brushed her hands off on the front of her shorts, "So. What should we do while we wait for the food?" 

"Sleep," Clarke suggested. 

Bellamy felt a smirk tug st his lips as he looked across the hall at her. "I second that." 

"We could go swimming." 

Clarke furrowed her brow. "You expect us to all go down to the club just to swim?"

"Uh," Bellamy intervened before Octavia could take the opportunity to gleefully tell her, "We actually have a pool here." 

"Nobody has a pool. We live in New York." 

Bellamy looked at Lincoln and Octavia before grinning and heading towards the staircase, "Oh, young, naive, innocent Clarke Griffin," he started, momentarily forgetting that they weren't actually talking, "For someone who grew up in money, the fact that you don't know about indoor swimming pools is astounding." He chuckled as he took the stairs to the third floor. "We don't have a three story town home in New York for nothing." 

"You don't actually have a pool." 

Octavia laughed, bounding after him, "You're right." 

Lincoln followed after them with a smile in Clarkes direction, "We also have a hot tub." 

The shock on her face was enough for Bellamys heart to bounce him to his throats and clench tight. And the slow smile that made its away across her lips, well. 

That right about killed him. 

 

They didn't like to talk about it. But once a year, Bellamy and Octavia made their way to London to visit her. She was growing older, and they hadn't aged a day. For most of her life, she thought it was a fairy tale. Her parents would send her to sleep with stories of wonder and amazement of the two immortals who experienced things beyond her wildest imagination. 

But then, she got older. And they had to move. And she grew confused. 

And then she was twenty, and they were sitting in the living room, the four of them, because Clarke was finally back, and Emily was staring at them with watering eyes. 

"Clarke," Bellamy murmured, removing his hand from her lower back, "Can you give us a few minutes? Octavia and Emily go way back. They just need to talk." 

Clarke had nodded, smiled and left the room without so much as a word. It probably had to do with the way both octavia and Emily looked as if they were going to cry, or perhaps the way Bellamy looked at Emily. He didn't know why she was so understanding, but he appreciated it more than he could put into words. 

"It was all true," Emily said, a few tense moments later. "The stories you used to tell me as a child. It was all true. Is this why you sent me away?" 

Octavia shook her head and moved to sit next to her. She pulled her hands into her own and shook her head again. "No, no, of course not. It was just . . . After your father died, and the neighbors started suspecting something strange, we had to leave for a while. And it wouldn't have been fair of us to remove you from your friends and the people you love." 

"You're the people I love." 

Octavia smiled softly, eyes watery. "Gods, Emily. I had no idea you cared so much." 

Emily laughed though her tears and leaned on her mothers shoulder, their hands clasped tightly in Octavia's lap. "I care for nothing as much as I care for you and Uncle. You must know this." 

"We do," Bellamy said, finally strolling across the room to kneel in front of her. "You are the single most important person in both our lives." 

"But you've found your true love." 

He smiled softly and reached up to cup her cheek. "I have, yes. But you are my niece, and no amount of love for Clarke will negate how much I absolutely adore you." 

She smiled, leaning her head into his hand, "thank you, Uncle." 

"We must discuss how we move forward," Octavia murmured. "I dread leaving your side for even a moment longer than I have, Emily." Emily lifted her head and looked at her, then. "But we will not age, we realized this years ago. You will continue to grow. I had hoped...." she trailed off and looked at Bellamy helplessly. 

"We had hoped you'd be like us," He finished for her, "That at a certain point you would stop aging as well. But you're well past the age your mother was when she stopped." 

"I have to stay, and you must leave." She whispered, pulling her hands from Octavia's, looking at them both wide eyed. "You're abandoning me." 

"Never!" Octavia exclaimed, "I would never abandon you. You are my child. My only child. The only one I shall ever have." She reached forward with both hands and cupped her daughters face, "Emily you are my heart and soul. Your father will return one day, as he always does, and you had better know our first stop will be visiting you."

She furrowed her brow and reached up to wrap her hand loosely around Octavia's wrists, "Mother," She whispered, "I could be long dead before he ever returns." 

"Don't you dare speak like that." 

"It's the truth." 

"We have a long future ahead of us, Emily. You are going to grow old, and marry, have children-," 

"And where do the two of you fit into this perfect life you've imagined for me, mother?" She pulled Octavia's hands away and stood up. "Uncle? Where do you two fit into my life? Am I to move onto a wonderful future with a kind man, marry into his wealth and live happily ever after? And what am I to do when he asks of my family? Shall I tell him I am an orphan?" 

They looked at each other for a moment, before Bellamy stood up. "We will visit. We cannot stay, and we will not force you to move your life around every few years to satisfy what we must do to survive. You will have a future Emilia. And we will write always. You will receive so many letters from your mother and I that you will combust with the frustration of your home being filled with parchment. And we will visit once yearly. You are the only thing keeping your mother sane. Without you she'll go wild and quite frankly, I'm afraid she'll murder me." 

Emily looked at Octavia and Octavia laughed. "I can't say I disagree. Your uncle frustrates me ten times an hour." 

"How am I to survive without you?" 

"With ease. You are a beautifully, wonderfully self sufficient woman, Emily." Bellamy smiled, reaching up for her hand and squeezing it gently. "And every year, we'll be back, here in this house, and we will get to know your new family. Of course, Octavia will have to be a friend. And then a friends child. As you age, we become less to you." 

The fact that she would never become less to them went unsaid. 

"Have you done this before?" 

Octavia choked on a sob and shook her head, pulling Emily back down on the couch and engulfing her in a tight hug, while Bellamy kept hold of her hand. "No," She whispered into her hair, "And i shan't ever do it again." 

Emily nodded, squeezed Octavia and smiled down at Bellamy. "Right then," She said, sniffling and reaching up to wipe at her eyes, "Lets meet my future aunt." 

Bellamy looked up at her, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Gods," he muttered, "You are disturbingly like your mother." 

Octavia glared at him. 

"I'll take that as a compliment, uncle." She grinned, nodding towards the door, "Now, are you going to go fetch the woman I've heard so much of, or must I do it myself?" 

He laughed and stood up. "I supposed I'd better go find her. I'm not so sure you would say kind things about me." 

Emily smirked, the tears still welling at the corners of her eyes, "We shall see," She said, waving towards the door. "Go on, then. Mother and I can handle ourselves for a few moments." 

They left two weeks after that with promises of letters and future visits. Emily and Clarke had a brief hug goodbye. A small laugh at Bellamys expense that was never explained. And then Emily made her way over to Octavia, and their farewell was much more tearful. Octavia barely had it in herself to leave her daughter.

They wrote to her weekly, and for a while she wrote just as often. Then they slowed, until they only received apologies and a letter once monthly. They sailed back to London every May for her birthday. And each year, she'd aged and they stayed the same. 

Each year she introduced them as something else to people they'd never met, but knew vividly thanks to Emily's letters. 

Six years later, they arrived, just Bellamy and Octavia, and Emily rushed him with a hug so tight he saw stars for nearly an hour afterward. Clarke had been taken by a mysterious illness that took the lives of a countless many back home just a few days before they got on the ship. The letter had arrived on Emily's door just that morning. 

And then another four years after that, they'd walked into the living room, and sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper was Lincoln. 

"He helped me when the carriage broke a few weeks ago," Emily explained. "He said I reminded him of someone," She smiled softly, "I didn't tell him who he reminded me of." 

"It's him." 

"I know, mother. I'm hardly blind. I remember my fathers face." She motioned for her to move forward, "honestly mother if you don't go speak to him, I'll afford one of the widows down their street an opportunity." 

Octavia's jaw had dropped and Bellamy laughed. "If there were any doubt about who her mother is, it's certainly gone now."

They stayed six months that year. Emily was thirty, and Lincoln was back. A mentor to her, even. 

And Bellamy watched them. Lincoln fell for Octavia again, and the three of them formed a family. And Bellamy was left with nothing to do but to watch. And he envied them, which was cruel, selfish, because he knew what was in their future. 

Hundreds of letters, twelve visits, one marriage, and one miscarriage later, Emily died. They found out two weeks after the funeral. She was forty three years old when she got sick. 

Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln went home, to their village, and stayed there until the turn of the century when they decided it was time to head to America for the first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are a load of typos, I know there's some in the past I'm working on fixing those, I'm mostly writing this on my phone, so yes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think <3


	11. Run away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few flashbacks on their past, and Octavia spilled some beans for the greater good.

"You adopted Charlotte." The words are soft, precise behind him. He hadn't even heard her enter the room, but suddenly her presence shifted the energy of the room and he felt her all around him. 

He turned and looked over the back of the chair, the newspaper splayed lazily over his lap. "Hello, Clarke." He offered a polite nod, and motioned for her to come in further with a soft wave of his hand over the chair. "Do come in." 

She stared at him for a long moment, the tick in her jaw working as it always had whenever she had something to say that she didn't know how to phrase. As she made her way around the chair, she stopped in between him and the table. She raised a shaking hand and pointed at him, "You adopted Charlotte." 

He nodded again. "I did." 

"Why?" 

He frowned, furrowing his brow. "You love her." 

"I do." Her hand fell. "Why would you adopt her?" 

"You said you would if only you had the money and resources to give her a family." 

"You haven't answered my question." 

He sighed, looking down as he picked up the newspaper and leaned around her to set it on the table. He sat back in the chair and looked up her. "I did it for you." 

Her eyes narrowed, as her hands clenched into fists beside her. "Stand up, Bellamy." 

"I'm afraid you're a bit close to -," 

She took a step to the side and motioned with both hands for him to stand. "Stand. Up." 

He stood, watching her carefully as he did so. "Is this where we kiss?" 

She scoffed, and in a moment, before he could even blink, she'd reached up, and slapped him across the cheek. His head ripped to the side with the unexpected force, and a brief dizziness swept over him as he righted his head. "How dare you!" She exclaimed. 

How had he not expected this? Clarke had always been unpredictable, but so much so that he should have known by now to always expect the response he didn’t want. He turned his head back, and looked at her, opening his mouth to stretch out his jaw. “I believe that was uncalled for, Clarke.” 

“You’ve deprived Charlotte an opportunity at having a family who cares for and loves her!” 

He blinked. “But you love and care for her.” 

“You don’t!” 

“But you _do_.” 

“How I feel about Charlotte is irrelevant! You’ve adopted her!” 

“Yes, and I have been courting you for months.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, her chest heaving before she took a step back. “I am nothing more than your sisters tutor.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You and I -,” 

“Are not married.” She murmured, shoulders slumping as she looked to the ceiling. “And never will we be.” 

“Clarke. . . “

She shook her head. “I am nothing more than a tutor to your family. Every woman knows you rich men, you.” She stopped, clenched her jaw tight and looked to the ground, “You pick a woman you find acceptably attractive, and you court her. You make her believe she is loved.” 

Bellamy fell back into the chair as his legs gave out beneath him. 

She looked at him, tilting her head, and he couldn’t miss the tears welling in her eyes. “And then, when she is truly, and utterly at peace, you rip it out from under her, and tell her she could never be loved by a man such as yourself. I let myself be fooled for too long. And for you to use Charlotte in this pathetic game, I cant bare it any longer.” 

He waited a beat before he let out a long gust of air. “Clarke,” He whispered, his hands clenching the arms of the chair as he leaned forward to stare at her, “I am in love with you. This is not a game. How could you even believe such a ridiculous rumor?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, as he pushed himself out of the chair and moved towards her, “I would never partake in such cruelty. You forget, I have not always been rich.” 

“You’re all the same. New wealth and old.” 

He stopped, the breath ripped out of him. “You can’t honestly believe -,” 

“I do. And,” She clenched her jaw again, and pointed a finger at him, “I want nothing to do with you. But, if I hear you have so much as neglected Charlotte for even a moment, Bellamy Blake, I will personally ruin you.”

“Clarke.” 

“I am taking this moment to resign as Octavia’s tutor. Good day.” 

Before he could even pull in a breath to reply, she was rushing out of the room. 

**

"Princess," Bellamy hissed as he reached out and grabbed her arm from beneath the cloak. 

She helped as he pulled her aside, into an alley off the market street. "Unhand me you-!" 

"Oh for heavens sake," He groaned, pushing the hood of his cloak down to glare down at her. Her mouth fell open as she stared up at him.

"Lord Blake?" 

"Yes." He replied, letting go of her arm so he could cross his atop his chest, "What do you think you're doing? If the queen finds out you've gotten out, she'll have the head of each and every one of your guards!" 

She narrowed her eyes up at him, "You've no right to speak to me like this." 

He scoffed. "You are so childish, Princess. Your mother is only trying to protect you. Not everyone in the kingdom admires your family." 

"I am allowed my freedom." 

"Not with the state the kingdom is in, you're not. Hence the guards. And the closed grounds." 

"You will leave me be." 

He tilted his head. "Or what? You'll call on the guards? You shouldn't even be out this late at night, Princess. They will tell the queen, and while I'll be placed in the dungeon for manhandling you, you will also be in a quite a bit of trouble of your own." 

She huffed and looked at the ground, her fingers clenching tight along the edges of her cloak. "Is it so wrong," she started, voice soft, "That I like to leave the castle at night? Feel the air outside of the grounds? Meet my people?" 

He smiled, soft. "Not in the slightest," he murmured, "But the queen is worried for your safety. We are at the brink of war, princess." 

"Perhaps I don't wish to be the princess in time of war!" 

"Perhaps you don't have a choice." 

She glared up at him. "And who are you to tell me my choices are limited? You're but a lord! I am the crown princess. I am to take power of this country." 

"You are, one day. For now, you're just a child. A privileged child." 

"You truly wish to be executed, don't you?" 

He chuckled, leaned forward, "You could try, Princess. I'm afraid I'm quite resistant." 

She narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms across the bodice of her dress as she examined him for a long moment. Finally, she said with a nod to herself, "Tell my mother if you like. I am not going back until I've finished my walk." 

He shrugged with a smirk. "I've no intention of telling your mother, princess. I should like to join you on your walk." He looked down at her, tilting his head. "That is if the lady doesn't object." 

"You were just -," 

"Yes, well. I'm fairly decent with a sword. Should anyone endanger you, you've now a man to protect you." 

She scoffed. "I know how to use a sword as well." 

"Yes, but if the queen were to hear you went on a walk without a guard to protect you, it will ease her worry to know a man had joined you." As she turned her gaze up to glare at him again, he held both his hands up in mock surrender. "I did not say it is a belief I agree with. It is but the way the world works, Princess. Until you are queen, I'm sure." 

She sighed, motioning for him to follow as they started walking. "When I am queen, and I have a child of my own, that child will be trusted to care for his or herself. I have no doubt in their capabilities." 

"Nor do I." 

"Just because you're agreeable," she said, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at him, "Does not mean I like you." 

"Understood, princess." Though, he was smiling as they walked along the path towards the city. 

 

"Bellamy." 

He looked up from his slice of pizza and smiled softly at her. "Hey," He said around a mouth full of cheesy, pepperoni heaven. As she raised an eyebrow he shrugged apologetically, looked down and chewed the piece of pizza. "Sorry," he muttered, looking back up at her once his mouth was free and clear of everything except after taste. "Hey." 

"Octavia's inviting some people over... apparently winter swimming is all the rage." 

He laughed, "When its more than her and Lincoln involved she gets it in her head that everyone should be involved." 

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know. . . She just wanted to know if there was anyone else you wanted to invite? She already got Raven and Jasper." 

"Miller?" 

"Monty is a guaranteed with Jasper, and these days that means Miller, too." 

"Ah,” He smirked, “Then my pool of friends is empty." 

" . . . Did you just make a pun?" He grinned. "Oh my god," she shook her head. "That was cheap." 

"The best kind, if I'm being completely honest, here. THe cheaper the better." 

"Says the richest guy I know." 

He shook his head and turned to face the pool. "I'm pretty sure Lincoln is richer than me. His families art isn't exactly unknown." 

His families art really just meant his art signed with a different name for each generation. His own style meant he could pull new artwork out his ass and claim he found it in the basement of their old home or something. It’d get verified, and bam, payday. 

Not that he did it often, or with new paintings. Lincoln was a good guy, and he felt bad when he cheated the system like that. Though, if Bellamy were being honest, if he had the kind of painting skills Lincoln had, he'd definitely be cashing in every few years. 

Then again, as Bellamy had told himself time after time, he wasn’t a good person. Bellamy Blake was a selfish prick.

"If only my mom would understand that." She smiled half heartedly and sat down in the chair across the table. "I owe you an apology." 

"What?" 

That she most certainly did not. He owed her an apology, and gods, he was lucky she was even talking to him. No, not lucky. He shouldn't be talking to her either. Fucking brain needed to get on track with his life. His heart, too. 

"The way I acted, it was unfair." 

"I-," 

She held up her hand, "Stop. I had no right to try and force you into being anything more than friends with me. It was selfish, and you've clearly got a lot going on. And," she frowned, eyebrows furrowing in the way that he's pretty certain only Clarke has ever managed, and added, "I was talking to Octavia." 

"That's never a good idea." 

She didn't smile. "She told me about your last ex." 

Wait, _What?_

"What do you mean she told you about my last ex?" 

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just." She sighed, shaking her head, "She said you were together for a while, and that she died, and it hurt you, and it still does. She said -," He stood up, pushing the chair back a little more violently than he intended. "Where are you going?" 

He shook his head and strolled across the room to where Octavia and Lincoln were in the hot tub. "Octavia," he said, voice low. "We need to talk." 

Octavia opened her eyes and frowned up at him. "What's wrong with you? You two looked like you were getting along for a minute there." 

He shook his head, his hand coming up to scratch at his eyebrow, "Octavia. Now."

Her face fell. "Shit, okay," She murmured as she climbed out of the hot tub. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

"You told her about what happened? What the fuck, O?" 

"We can still hear you," Lincoln said, from his place in the hot tub. "Maybe take this conversation elsewhere?" 

Bellamy glared down at him before grabbing Octavia by the elbow and dragging her out to the hall. She yanked her arm out of his grip as soon as the door to the pool room slammed shut behind her. "What the fuck is your problem?" 

"You told her?" 

"Told her what, Bellamy? You can't play the pronoun game. You're an author, use your fucking words."

"You told her my ex died!"

"Because she did!"

His jaw clenched, and his arms crossed across his chest. "You shouldn't have told her." 

She scoffed. "And why not? So she could go on hating you for no reason? So you can play this martyr? You're allowed to be happy, Bellamy!" 

"I don't _want_ to be happy!"

Her face fell, as her jaw went slack. She stared at him for a long moment. "Bellamy -," 

"I can't play happy anymore when I know she's going to die. I can get lost in the moment for a minute, but Jesus, O, you have to understand how much it hurts. Every time I'm happy, it hurts." 

"But it hurts you more to know she's here and -," 

"I can handle that pain. I can handle it if she's alive. I can't handle knowing I'm going to kill her again." 

"Bell," she whispered, "You -," 

"I can't do this. I - I have to go." He shook his head, before nodding to himself and turning to go down the stairs. 

If he just left, Clarke would be okay and neither of them had to deal with the curse luring them together. If he left, and never looked back, Clarke Griffin would have the chance to fall for somebody else and live a full, and happy life. 

And he wouldn't kill her again. 

"Bellamy . . ." 

"Don't, O. Just - don't." He muttered, as he made his way down the stairs.


End file.
